


Healing Old Wounds

by circlique



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A Lot of Awkwardness, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst and Humor, Blood and Injury, Communism, Current Events, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Grudges, Guilt, Gun Violence, Historical Hetalia, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Character Appearances - Freeform, Opening Up, Possible Side Couples, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, War, canonverse, discovery of past, so much research
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circlique/pseuds/circlique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the past, America has made a point to tease and taunt North Korea at every available opportunity. After all, messing with commies is kind of his thing. But when North Korea starts making the news for all the wrong reasons, America is forced to start taking a more personal approach. </p><p>It was never supposed to end with him falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> When I first started roleplaying Hetalia in 2010 I had a really big interest in North Korea. I explored that interest through making an OC and roleplaying him with other Hetalia characters, including America. My roleplay partner and I started roleplaying America/North Korea as a joke, thinking "it would never work, but what if it did?" Through years of building, we made it work.
> 
> With this fic, I'm challenging myself to show that even the most improbable of relationships can be possible with mutual understanding and compassion. It will be a very slow build, but I'm hoping you'll stick through to the end to see just how things turn out.
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> Human names will be used between nations who are very close with each other. America will be referred to as Alfred throughout the narrative, with the exception of chapter one, where nation names are used to establish the distance between the characters.
> 
> There are some slightly implied side pairings, but none obvious enough that I felt they needed to be labelled. A lot of them could just be interpreted as close friendship, and since I know a lot of people can be turned off by certain side pairings (I know I won't read some fics if I know certain pairings are involved in any fashion), I've left all of them vague enough that you should be able to interpret them as you wish. If this ever changes, it will be updated in the relationship list.
> 
> This fic is based heavily on real events from December 2010-December 2011, a period during which North Korea made headlines almost daily. I've done a lot of research on this topic and I'm hoping to make this fic both educational and thought-provoking. I will be doing my best to dispel stereotypes and describe events with tact, but please let me know if I am not and I will do my best to alter it. This fic was originally begun four years ago, so some of the earlier chapters are in need of an update anyway.
> 
> Don't let everything I've said up until now scare you! There's plenty of humor and funny moments throughout and I want this to be a good experience for everyone. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Voices could be heard echoing faintly from the main lobby, indistinguishable from one another except for the occasional burst of laughter from France. Every now and then someone could be heard calling the names of other nations, though it was difficult to tell who exactly was doing the calling. The main lobby was chaos, the noise and excitement from the many nations and their advisors almost deafening, but down the hall, it was much quieter. America, actually tired of the excitement for once, had wandered down the hall in search of some peace and quiet.

Once he was away from the worst of the noise, he ducked into a small side room and closed the door behind him, hoping to get away long enough to breathe for a moment. Looking around, he appeared to have stepped into a small meeting room. There was a table in the middle with a few chairs around, probably only enough to seat five or six. Though there was a window, the blinds were down, and the walls were painted a rather dreary shade of grayish-blue. A typical office water dispenser had been placed in the corner, and next to it, a table with a coffee pot and some containers of creamer and sugar. Figuring it couldn't hurt if he had a little, America began brewing himself a pot of coffee.

He stretched for a moment as he waited, then paced, then stretched again, then paced a little more, and finally just stood watching the coffee brewer. This was taking forever! Sighing impatiently, he finally just went over to one of the chairs and flopped down in it, sprawling himself out and throwing his legs up onto the table as if he owned the place. He slipped his jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair, then proceeded to stare at one of the framed pictures on the wall, which, unsurprisingly, was about as boring as the rest of the room—a black and white picture of the city of London 50 years ago.

London had been the city chosen to host the World Conference this year. England, America was sure, would kill him if he walked in and saw him with his feet up on the table. He would probably be forced to endure some rant about him being a "disrespectful American," and "oh, I raised you better" and a variety of other bad insults. It wasn't like the American cared though. The chances of England walking in right now were very slim. The Englishman would be busy tending to all the tasks that came with hosting the World Conference, so for now, he was alo—

The door to the little meeting room swung open and another man stared at him from the doorway. For a moment the man seemed surprised, but as soon as he realized who he was looking at, his features darkened. His expression was not friendly, his dark eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth drawn into a stiff frown. His dark hair was drawn neatly back into a short ponytail, his bangs brushed to the sides of his face. The man's shoulders seemed to tense under his olive green uniform upon seeing America lounging in the chair across the room. America smiled back at him anyway, if only to be annoying.

North Korea, also tired of the constant shenanigans going on in the main lobby, had also been seeking some peace and quiet. America knew he was probably the last person North Korea wanted to see, and he wasn't about to pass up a chance to try and piss the communist off.

"Hey, commie," America grinned, crossing one foot over the other and leaning back in the chair a bit more, watching the communist from his spot across the room. From the way he was positioning himself, he thought, maybe to North Korea it would look like he had been waiting here for him the whole time, as some kind of "evil capitalist trick _."_

"…Capitalist," the Korean hissed as if on cue, glaring at him for a moment before stalking over to the little water cooler in the corner. America watched as he pulled a paper cup from the holder and filled it with water, his eyes narrowed even as he directed his gaze away from the American. A moment later, the Korean turned back to face him, his expression unchanged. He took a sip from the cup and leaned against the wall, staring him down. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I don't want anything," America responded, still smiling over at him. "I'm just waiting on my coffee." He motioned to the coffeemaker near to where the Korean was standing. "Why? Does my commie friend want something?"

"I'm not your friend," the Korean growled, taking another sip from the paper cup. "I want nothing but for you to fall off the face of the earth."

America simply grinned back at him, chuckling. North Korea seemed to tense even more at his laughter.

"You really can't let anything go, can you?" he said, taking his feet off the table. Sixty years ago he had sided with North Korea's brother, South Korea, in the Korean War. North Korea seemed to be under the impression that the whole ordeal was  _America's_ fault, and that he'd somehow poisoned South's mind with capitalist ideals, when in reality, most of the things South held against him were all his own doing.

His coffee looked like it was almost done, and he wondered what the Korean would do if he went so close to where he was standing to get it. North still leaned against the wall near the water cooler—which was right next to the table with the coffee stuff on it—staring at him, daring him to come over.

Of course, America wasn't about to be deterred by someone who reminded him of a little mean chihuahua. Stretching once more, he pulled himself to his feet and strolled right past the North Korean to the coffee brewer. North glared at him darkly, and America raised an eyebrow at him curiously, waiting to see what he would do. Though the Korean seemed to be trying to stare him down, he didn't look like he was going to physically stop America from getting to his coffee. When it became apparent that North Korea wasn't going to do anything worse than stare holes into the back of his head, America began humming his national anthem while he poured himself a cup. Slowly. So he could milk the Korean's anger for all it was worth.

"Shut. Up." North growled, finishing off what was left in his cup and promptly crushing the thing in his fist afterwards.

"And the rockets' red glaaaare!" America sang, looking over his shoulder to grin at the Korean once more. That quickly earned him a crumpled paper cup being thrown at his face, which hit him squarely in the forehead. America just laughed.

"Are you not understanding me? I'm speaking English. Or are you just not smart enough to understand your own language?" North sneered, grabbing another cup out of the dispenser and preparing to throw it at America.

"No, I understand you!" America assured him cheerily, spooning some sugar from the container into his coffee. Boy, messing with North never failed to entertain him. "I just don't take orders from  _commies_." His voice took on a bit of an edge as he smirked at the Korean haughtily.

The next crumpled cup was instantly soaring towards his face, this time glancing harmlessly off his glasses. He slipped his glasses of his face for a moment to clean the lens with his sleeve before sliding them back on, smiling at the Korean as if it didn't even bother him, before going back to dumping spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee.

"If you'd stop dumping so much sugar in your coffee, maybe you wouldn't be so fat," the Korean replied, suddenly changing the subject. He reached for another cup but seemed to decide against throwing another as he allowed his hand to go back to his side, empty.

America stopped midway to dumping in another spoonful. "No I'm not! I—"

"You are. Look at yourself," North said, motioning to the spoonful of sugar in America's hand.

"There's nothing wrong with putting sugar in it!" the American responded, dumping it in and stirring it around before moving to look for a plastic lid. "Plus, I exercise! I play baseball with Mattie on the weekends!" Once he'd found a lid, he pressed it onto the top of the styrofoam cup and took a loud, slurping swig. He paused for a moment, then reached for the coffee pot and held it up, swishing what remained in it around. "You want some?"

"I—…No! No, I don't!" North said, his frustration showing on his face. America grinned once more, knowing his goal of pissing off the communist had most certainly been achieved. He thought that, maybe if he could track down North later during their time in London, he would have to find some other way to get on his nerves. This was too much fun to leave as a one time deal.

"Stupid American…" North continued. "I wouldn't even touch something you've contaminated."

"Oh, you wouldn't?" America asked, smiling mischievously. "Then what would you do if I did this?" He took a step closer, smiling wider as he took in the confused look on the Korean's face. It was so much different than the glare he usually wore. It was strange. It reminded him a bit of South Korea. What would North look like if he actually smiled?

Feeling especially childish, America brought a hand up and poked the Korean quickly in the shoulder, continuing to smile down at him. "Now that  _you_ _'re_  contaminated, what do you plan to do?" He laughed obnoxiously, proceeding to poke the Korean a few more times, nearly gasping in surprise when his hand was suddenly grabbed and he found himself being jerked down to the shorter Korean's level.

North gave him a sinister smile, his eyes gleaming. "I could always break your hand," he said coldy, tightening his grip on America's hand.

With a frown, America set his coffee aside on the meeting table, and, keeping eye contact with the North Korean, brought up his other hand and began to pry North's off. He smirked at him once more. "I'd like to see you try," he said, managing to peel North's hand off and taking his own hand back. He had to admit, he found the Korean's anger to be funny, even if he'd surprised him a bit by actually yanking him closer and threatening to break his hand.

Walking briskly past the Korean before he could do anything else, America retrieved his jacket and slung it over one shoulder, then reached again for his coffee. "Actually, I'd like to see you try a lot of things. Like maybe opening your eyes and realizing your 'Dear Leader' is nuts, huh?" he sneered, once again enjoying the death glare he was getting from North Korea. He chuckled again softly.

"Anyway, see you later, commie. We should do it again sometime! It's been fun." He took another sip from his coffee victoriously, grinned at the communist one last time, and reached out to ruffle his hair for good measure as he walked out the door, leaving the North Korean to quietly seethe in his wake. America wondered, as he left, how things might have turned out if he'd stayed and messed with the communist further. The Korean was always so cranky when the American saw him. Was he even capable of smiling? America tried to imagine it in his head, but decided it was too weird for him to reasonably think about for long. In fact, it bordered on creepy. As America walked back towards the main lobby, he decided that he liked North better when he was threatening to kill him, and started brainstorming ideas on how to get on the communist's nerves the next time he saw him.


	2. Poking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred finds himself incredibly bored and goes looking for some entertainment. Unfortunately, he sticks his nose where he shouldn't.

The rest of the day went by rather slowly, each of the nations heading off to their respective "mini-meetings" to discuss matters of national and international importance with allies or nations with similar interests. All of it was in preparation to get ready for the larger meetings that would be taking place throughout the week, which involved larger groups of nations trying to come to an agreement on larger issues.

Alfred, who was currently seated in a meeting with Canada, Mexico, and Cuba, rested his chin lazily on his palm, propping himself up by the elbow. This meeting was aimed mostly at border problems—illegal immigrants from Mexico, people coming over to Florida from Cuba, Americans sneaking into Canada and vice versa…

Mexico, a rather loud, dark-haired man, was rambling on and on about something that Alfred had stopped paying attention to, his voice hitting exceptionally loud points every once in a while that would occasionally jolt Alfred from his day-dreaming. The American was actually staring past the rapidly-speaking Mexican at the wall, his eyes scouring the texture for little pictures—an activity he'd done when he was bored since childhood. He'd stare at the carpet, at the ceiling, into the dirt, at the clouds—all looking for little pictures. It was a habit he had never quite grown out of, and—oh, was Mexico talking to him?

"And furthermore, you need to— _oye!_ Gringo, are you listening?"

Alfred glanced up at him lazily. "Huh? Oh, yes, sorry, please continue," he said with a wave of his hand.

Mexico seemed to seethe a little. " _Escucha_. I'm not here to yap at you and have you not listen! Pay attention."

Alfred nodded and the Mexican went on, but Alfred was only vaguely listening.

After what seemed like forever and with few agreements made, the meeting ended and the nations began to gather up their things and file out the door. Alfred seemed to take longer than the others, still day-dreaming (albeit now about what he might do after this) as he gathered up his things.

"You seemed out of it today…" someone said, causing Alfred to jump. He could have sworn no one had been there before! But he turned around and it was just Canada—Matthew Williams—standing there and staring at him quietly.

"Oh…haha…" Alfred laughed in embarrassment. "I didn't see you there, Mattie."

"Sorry…" Matthew said softly, offering a shy smile. He had a tendency to go a bit unnoticed since he was so quiet. Alfred thought Matthew could become quite the master of sneaking around if he wanted to, but the Canadian didn't seem interested in using his ability for anything adventurous. "Are you okay?" the Canadian asked.

"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm great, bro!" Alfred replied with a laugh and a smile.

Matthew continued to stare at him. "You just seemed…out of it…" he repeated, tilting his head just slightly. "Like…unfocused. Is there something bothering you?"

"No…" Alfred said slowly. He didn't feel like he'd been any more unfocused than he usually was! He did have a tendency to day-dream, but surely he hadn't been letting his thoughts drift any more than he usually did. At least, he didn't feel like he had been, but if you day-dreamed too much, surely it would be possible to lose track of exactly how much time you spent day-dreaming. "I'm fine, Mattie!"

Matthew didn't really look convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mattie, I'm positive!" Alfred insisted, smiling still, though he was actually beginning to get a bit annoyed. "Geez, you're like my mom or something! Relax, I'm fine."

Sighing, Matthew seemed to accept that there was nothing wrong, at least for the time being. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't totally convinced, but he had nothing to go on. So for the moment, he nodded. "Okay, fine…"

Frowning, Alfred walked over and threw and arm around his Matthew's shoulder. "Look, I'm fine, I swear!" he beamed. He didn't _feel_ like there was anything wrong, so he must have just been coming off as more tired than usual. "I was tired and I had coffee this morning. Maybe it's just weird British coffee messing with my head. Or maybe I'm just tired still."

The Canadian seemed to like this idea a bit better. "A-alright…I guess you're probably right. It must just be a mixture of jet lag and bad coffee." He chuckled softly. "I guess I've been feeling a bit like that too. Maybe that's the reason Mexico was so short-tempered today as well."

Alfred began leading Matthew out the door, his arm still draped over the other's shoulder. "Yeah, either that, or he was upset because I offered to buy him Taco Bell earlier."

"O-oh…" Matthew said, looking like he was trying to hold back a laugh and failing. "Well, there's no better way to upset him than offering to buy him fake Mexican food, I suppose…"

"Haha, that's what makes him so easy to mess with!" Alfred went on, satisfied that the subject had drifted far enough away from Matthew's previous concern. "Next time I'm gonna offer him taco pizza..."

Once Matthew had gone to take care of some other business, Alfred once again took the opportunity to stroll around. A lot of the other nations where still in meetings, so the halls were mostly empty. He was alone once again, except this time he wasn't looking for peace and quiet.

No, this time he was just plain bored. He was looking for someone to entertain him, but the only nations who seemed to be around were all ones who hated him, all grouped up in one little area talking with each other in hushed tones and unfamiliar languages. Not safe ground, by any means.

He quickly shuffled past them, doing his best not to look at any of them.

Once he'd gotten past the hostile looking nations in the lobby, he was in another area with a bunch of conference rooms. The doors all had a small rectangular window in them, and Alfred, being the curious person he was, couldn't help but poke his nose in on other people's business. Just a little… They wouldn't even know as long as they didn't see him, right?

In the first room he peeked in, he saw several eastern European nations. Russia didn't seem to be there, but it was almost certain he'd popped up in conversation more than a few times if Latvia's current expression was any indication. Nothing too interesting there, so he moved on.

The next room was several of the South American nations. If Alfred's Spanish had been good enough to pick up more of their rapid speech, he might have stuck around to eavesdrop. They were certainly yelling across the table loud enough to be heard from outside. Regardless, his ear for Spanish wasn't good enough to decipher anything worth listening to, so on to the next room it was.

The third room was…more yelling, unsurprisingly enough. Except this time insults were being thrown around in a strange hodge-podge of several different Asian languages that Alfred would've had no hope of deciphering even if they hadn't been speaking so quickly. It wasn't clear exactly what was going on, except that whatever they had been talking about had devolved from civil conversation into something that bordered on World War III. Several of them looked like they were ready to tear each other's throats out, and China was practically standing on the table trying to get them all to calm down, but to no avail.

Alfred backed away a step, still peering in through the window, but hoping the distance would give him less chance of being spotted. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of really angry nations finding out he'd been eavesdropping—not that he had any idea what they were saying anyway. But he wouldn't have to worry about that for too much longer.

A second later he stepped back from the door completely. Whatever had been going on in there was over now—as was the meeting apparently. A shaken looking Japan was the first to scurry out the door, followed by Indonesia and Malaysia close behind. Alfred pretended like he'd simply been walking by at the time, hanging off to the side as Philippines and Taiwan marched out angrily.

Now, Alfred  _had_  been wondering if his friend North Korea was in there. He hadn't been able to see with all the chaos, but his question was answered a few moments later. After another several nations filed out the door, last but not least, came China, dragging a Korean along by the arm with each hand—North with his left and South with his right. Alfred simply stood by and watched, knowing it was definitely best  _not_ to butt in when it involved the Koreas—and especially with China looking as pissed as he did just then.

As China dragged the twins past Alfred and down the hall, he seemed to be lecturing them in very, very angry sounding Mandarin. Alfred wasn't sure what had happened, whether either of the Koreas had actually started it, or how whatever it was managed to get all of the rest of Asia involved, but Alfred was sure something had gone down in there, and it had definitely involved those two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happening yet, but updates should be steady. See you next week!


	3. Toad in the Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America goes to lunch with South Korea, and he learns a bit about the commotion outside the meeting of the Asian nations he'd seen the day before.

The next morning, Alfred woke up messy-haired and groggy as always.

It had been a long night, with another meeting (which had run late) and a long search in the dark for a place to eat in the city of London. It wasn't true that all English food was bad. It was just a matter of finding a place that met your tastes, which required Alfred to find a place that served fried stuff. In an unfamiliar city. In the dark. And all while trying to avoid less friendly nations also roaming about in search of food.

After he'd finally found a place, had dinner, and returned to the hotel, he was beat, his caffeine high from the coffee he'd had earlier having worn off long ago. He'd flopped down on the bed and lain there for several minutes before managing to get up again and drag himself to the shower.

Once he'd showered, he'd simply pulled on a fresh pair of American flag print boxers and flopped back onto the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Now it was morning, and he realized he was already well on the road to being late for another meeting. He'd been so tired the night before, he'd completely forgotten to set the alarm.

He jumped out of bed and rushed to pull on a pair of slacks and a light blue button-up shirt, then he quickly combed through his bed head, fumbled to put on his socks and shoes, struggled to tie his tie, and was about to run out the door when he realized it might be a good idea to take his briefcase to the meeting, and had to run back in and grab it before he finally left the hotel in a hurry.

By the time he'd gotten to the conference center, he was already ten minutes late, and by the time he'd finally found the room where the meeting was being held, he was twenty minutes late. This was the G8 meeting, undoubtedly one of the most important he'd attend the entire conference week, and the other nations stared at him as he hurried in. A few glared.

"How nice of you to join us, _America,_ " said England, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. He was one of the glaring nations, of course. Alfred had just dared to be late to his—the _host's_ —meeting. Of course he wasn't happy.

"Sorry I'm late, pops," Alfred retorted, disliking the sarcasm he was getting. Geez, surely England—Arthur, as it was—had been late to an early morning meeting at least once before. He was probably just cranky because he had to host this whole world conference thing and keep tabs on everything going on. It was a big job.

The American made his way over to the empty seat marked _United States of America_ and sat down. "I just had to attend to some…things this morning and it put me behind schedule," he lied. Sleeping probably wasn't too important a thing to be tending too when he could be out solving world problems.

The Englishman snorted. "Oh, I'm sure," he said skeptically. Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew Alfred well enough to know he wouldn't have any real business to take care of this early in the morning, but he seemed to put the whole issue behind him fairly quickly. Arthur probably thought they were just wasting time by discussing it. "Now, if you'll look at that first sheet in that stack of papers in front of you, Alfred…"

Alfred left the meeting a little after noon, just as tired as ever. He was definitely not a morning person. He'd have preferred if the meeting could have taken place in the afternoon, but at least it was over with now. There were no other meetings scheduled for him to attend until tomorrow, with the G8 meeting being one of the most important he would attend this week.

That left him the whole afternoon to himself. First thing was first though—before he could decide what to do with all that free time, he had to face what he considered a major problem. He hadn't had lunch, and he was _hungry_. Once again he was faced with locating a decent restaurant nearby.

He wandered down to the parking garage and set to the somewhat hopeless task of finding his car. He'd been in such a hurry this morning he hadn't taken the time to take note of where he'd parked the darn thing… And it was a rental too, so he actually wasn't entirely sure what it looked like either. It was silver—he knew that much—but there were way more than a few silver cars parked in this parking garage. His best bet was going to be simply taking the set of keys and clicking the button until he found a car that responded to it… But that was going to take forever.

Pulling out his keys, he was just about to set to the hopeless task when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. "Hey, Alfred!"

He looked around for the source of the voice, his eyes landing on the smiling face of none other than South Korea—Yong Soo. Alfred's eye, however, was drawn instantly to the Korean's cheek, which was slightly swollen and sported a purple bruise about the size of a quarter where a blow had supposedly glanced off his cheekbone. The Korean would have instantly noticed Alfred's expression change from delighted to concerned, but Alfred didn't say anything about the bruise just yet.

"Hey, Yong Soo!" he called as the Korean walked towards him. "What's up?"

"I'm about to go to lunch," Yong Soo replied, stopping in front of him, pulling his car keys from his pocket, and jingling them around. "You need a ride?"

Alfred looked down sheepishly. "Ah, ahaha, yeah, I do. I…can't find my car." He grinned wryly.

"Can't remember where you parked it, huh?" Yong Soo said, smirking. "Don't worry! Preparedness originated in Korea, after all!" An arm was thrown around the American's shoulder, and Alfred soon found himself being led farther down into the parking garage. "I've got plenty of extra room in my ride!"

"Thanks, bro!" Alfred grinned, ruffling the Korean's hair playfully. "You know any good places around here to eat?"

"Yeah, I got a place in mind," Yong Soo replied, leading him to a dark blue car a level lower in the parking garage than they'd previously been on.

The Korean pressed the unlock button on his keys, and the car suddenly came alive with a blink of its headlights and a short double-beep. Yong Soo went over to the driver's side while Alfred made his way over to the passenger side. The two of them climbed in, and soon enough the keys were in the ignition and there was K-pop blasting from the speakers.

"Ohp! Sorry," Yong Soo said, turning down the volume. "Forgot I had the speakers turned up so loud."

As soon as they were all buckled up and situated, Yong Soo backed the car out of its parking place and drove down to the ground level of the garage. A moment later, they were out in the streets of London.

"So where is this place, Yong Soo?" Alfred asked. "Is it good?"

"It's just a few blocks away," Yong Soo replied, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if it's good or not. I haven't been to it before, but Japan mentioned it and said it was alright."

"What's it called?"

"Some place called _The Stockpot_?"

"Sounds weird. Let's try it!"

It only took a few minutes to get there, even with the lunch rush clogging the streets. It was a relatively ordinary looking restaurant, set into the ground floor of a multi-story building. _THE STOCKPOT_ was spelled out in giant letters above the doorway. There wasn't any possible way they could've mistaken it for a different restaurant. Though they'd found the restaurant with little trouble, Yong Soo had to drive them farther down the street before he could finally find a place to park, and from there the two of them simply walked to the restaurant.

The inside definitely spoke of England, with its quaint décor and relaxed lighting. They had to wait a while before they could get a table, but it wasn't too long, and soon enough they were seated and looking over the menu.

Yong Soo giggled at something on the menu. "'Toad in the Hole?' That's a silly name for food. Is it really a toad?"

Alfred glanced down to where he was reading. "No… It says here it's sausages in Yorkshire pudding batter… It's some kind of old English dish! I think maybe Arthur used to make it for me when I was little."

"So…it's like sausage pudding?" Yong Soo asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Sort of," Alfred said, shrugging. "I think I might get that. It sounds better than 'Steak and Kidney Pudding' anyway." He made a bit of a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out a little.

"In that case I think I'll get it too then," the Korean said, nodding in agreement. "And we probably get our food quicker if we have the same order anyway!"

As if on cue, a waitress arrived to take their order. She'd probably been able to tell they were foreigners by the way they'd spent so long looking over the menu and chuckling at the funny names. Smiling cheerfully, she told them she'd get their food out to them as soon as possible and disappeared to somewhere else in the restaurant. In the meantime, Alfred turned to Yong Soo.

"So, um…" he started a bit awkwardly, knowing it was sort of rude to ask questions about things people didn't necessarily want to talk about. "What happened?"

"Huh?"

"There," Alfred said, tapping his cheek with his finger, referring to the bruise on Yong Soo's slightly swollen cheek.

The Korean's smile faded. "My brother happened."

"Which brother?"

"Which one do you think?" the Korean snapped, his expression dark.

"Oh."

Yong Soo picked up the glass of Coke that had been brought for him by the waitress and took a long drink before he looked back to Alfred. "We got in a fight yesterday. Did you see? I saw you outside the conference room."

Alfred looked at him a bit sheepishly. Even if Yong Soo didn't necessarily know he'd been snooping, he knew he'd been hanging around the conference room. "No. I just saw China dragging you and North out."

"Yeah," Yong Soo grumbled, stirring his drink with his straw idly, his chin resting in his other palm. "Well, we got in a fight, and China had to drag us out."

Alfred hesitated to ask the next question, aware that he was treading on thin ice. "What started the fight?"

The swirling straw in Yong Soo's glass seemed to pick up speed, creating a mini Coke whirlpool in the cup. "The _Cheonan_ got brought up somehow," he said.

Oh. That would make a lot of sense, Alfred thought. The _Cheonan_ had been a proud South Korean naval vessel, an armed corvette. Of course, it was at the bottom of the sea now, thanks to North Korea. All evidence pointed to a torpedo fired from a North Korean mini-sub, and so, North Korea took the blame for the sinking of a South Korean navy vessel, and the deaths of 46 sailors in South Korea's own waters. Though the sinking had happened earlier in the year, it generally had not been a good year for the two Koreas. Only a month before the meetings, the South Korean island of Yeonpyeong had been bombarded by North Korean artillery. North Korea had claimed it was "self defense" against South Korean naval drills going on in the area, but Alfred knew Yong Soo didn't buy that excuse. Yong Soo was convinced it had been a carefully calculated, cold-blooded attack, and it had left him shaken. It was the second attack on his people in just a few months' time, and the pain would still be fresh in Yong Soo's mind. A mention of either incident would have been an easy set-off for a fight.

"I don't even remember who brought it up or why…" Yong Soo continued with a scowl, "…But he said something like…'I hear your boats can't read a map. Please inform them where the sea border is so there aren't any more unfortunate _incidents_.'" He continued to stir his Coke, his dark eyes staring at the little whirlpool as he did so. "And he had that _smile_. I just…I wasn't going to take that. There were people on that boat! That attack killed people! And he talks about it like it's some game! So I went over the table and slugged him one in the jaw because he deserved it, then he got me on the side of my face, and then…I don't even know. We were on the floor and they had to pull us off one another."

Alfred listened in silence, eyeing Yong Soo with a look of concern. The Korean was stirring his Coke so intensely that it was beginning to spill over the sides, and Alfred had to reach over and pull his hand away from the cup to calm him. Yong Soo met Alfred's eyes, looking like tears of fury were about to spill over.

Alfred didn't really know what to tell him. What did you say to someone whose own brother had done such a thing and had shown little to no concern for it?

"Listen, Yong Soo…" Alfred said softly, trying to pull comforting words out of thin air as he went along. "You two…just need to sit down and have a long talk…and believe that things will get bette—"

"Alfred," Yong Soo interrupted tensely, his eyes flitting down to stare into his drink once more. "I don't think things are going to get better. I'm losing faith that we could just…be _Korea_ again," he said hopelessly.

"Why not?" Alfred asked, beginning to regret bringing it up at all. "I mean…you guys are brothers! You're twins for god's sake! You miss him don't you? I mean, I'm sure he misses you too! And isn't that brotherly bond stronger than the bitterness between two governments?"

Yong Soo was silent for a long moment, staring into his now still Coke, tears still stinging at the corners of his eyes, though he stubbornly willed them not to fall.

"That's the problem though…" he sighed, defeated. "Sang Kyu is a changed man. He's not the brother I used to know. When I look him in the eye, they're not the same eyes he used to have. You said a brotherly bond is stronger than two governments? Well, I don't think he remembers…I think maybe he's not any different than his government now… Why else would he attack our people and show no remorse?"

Alfred was silent. He didn't really feel that he could relate. Sure, he and Mattie had fought before, but it hadn't stopped them from being brothers! Even after the War of 1812, things had gotten better, and now they were closer than ever before. And even Arthur! Even after the Revolution and the War of 1812 and numerous other disagreements, that hadn't stopped them from being friends. Things had always gotten better…

Then again, those things had happened years ago and the emotional wounds had numbed with time. For Yong Soo, the feelings of betrayal and rage were still fresh and raw, and every time North Korea got brought up it was like rubbing salt in the wounds.

Alfred reached across the table to lay a hand on Yong Soo's shoulder, hoping the motion would be comforting somehow. "You just have to keep trying. Nothing will ever get better if you stop trying," he said. "He'll have to see eventually."

Yong Soo looked up and gave him a forced, crooked smile. It was obvious he was just trying to get the conversation to end faster. "Yeah…yeah…" he said. "I guess…"

"Look, I'm sorry I brought it up, okay! Let's talk about something else," Alfred suggested, glancing up just in time to see their waitress coming with their food. What a lifesaver! "Hey look!" he said, nodding in her direction. "I bet that's ours. Let's see how the ol' 'Toad in the Hole' tastes, shall we?"

A moment later, the odd English dish was placed in front of them, a delicious aroma wafting up from it.

"It smells really good," Yong Soo commented, his distress from earlier fading at the sight of the food. "Well, you said England used to make this for you, right? Is it good?"

"Taste it and find out," Alfred said with a smile. "You'll like it, I'm sure."


	4. Boredom and Lectures

Once they'd tasted the food, their previous conversation about North Korea was completely forgotten, and the mood improved drastically. That was the beauty of Alfred's friendship with Yong Soo—even if they had a rocky moment or two, they could be back to normal in a matter of minutes, as if nothing had ever happened. Such was the case now. There was not another mention of the reclusive communist nation for the rest of their lunch, and they continued their conversation as if the subject had never been brought up in the first place. The only pauses in the fun seemed to come as Yong Soo periodically checked his phone, typing the occasional message before going right back to talking.

A lot of giggling and a pretty good lunch later, Yong Soo and Alfred were once again in the car on their way back to the conference center. K-pop once again blasted through the speakers. Yong Soo sang along loudly while Alfred struggled to make out what he could of the quick speaking singers' language. After a couple of blocks, he gave up.

When they reached the parking garage, Alfred leaned over and tapped Yong Soo's shoulder. "Hey, slow down a little," he said, reaching into his pocket to dig around for his car keys.

"Why?" Yong Soo asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eye and slowing down a little as the car entered the darkness of the garage.

"I need to figure out which car is mine or I'll have to spend forever trying to find it on foot later," Alfred explained, rolling down his window. "I bet I can find it faster this way."

Shrugging, Yong Soo sped up just slightly while Alfred poked his head and arm out the window, car keys in hand. Pointing it at the row of cars, he clicked the button repeatedly as they drove past, paying special attention to silver cars. A few levels up, one of them finally responded, its tail lights flashing as it beeped twice.

"There it is!" he exclaimed as Yong Soo slowed to a stop. Alfred turned to his Korean companion. "What section is this? Do you see a sign?"

The Korean glanced around, and, not seeing anything immediately, rolled down his window and stuck his head out of the car to get a better look. "There," he said, pointing. "You're in section D4. Silver Toyota."

"Cool," Alfred nodded, pulling himself back inside the car and rolling the window up. Yong Soo did the same. "D4. Silver Toyota. I'll remember that."

By now, another dark car had pulled up behind them. The driver hesitated as he approached, unsure why there was a random car just sitting in the middle of the parking garage. A moment later the driver in the other car honked the horn at them, an angry noise that cut through the air and echoed off the concrete walls of the parking garage. Yong Soo noticed, and with a quick glance in the rear view mirror, nudged the car forward as Alfred got situated in his seat again.

"Guess we'll get going now," the Korean said, speeding up once Alfred was back in his seat. "I need to find a place to park real quick and then I gotta run. I've got another conference this afternoon."

He drove up another level, glancing in the rear-view mirror every now and then. Alfred turned around to look behind them. The car that had been behind them a moment ago was still there, also apparently looking for a place to park.

Around the next turn there was finally an open space, and Yong Soo pulled the car into it with a sigh. The other car continued past, still looking for an open parking spot.

Yong Soo put on the parking break, then shut down the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. He had his seatbelt unbuckled and was already climbing out of the car before Alfred had even reached for his seat belt buckle. Yong Soo must really be in a hurry, he thought. And so, he sped himself up, undoing the seatbelt and getting out of the car as quickly as he could so Yong Soo could lock it up and be on his way.

Alfred considered asking who Yong Soo had a conference with this afternoon, but considering how their conversation earlier had gone, he didn't want to run the risk of asking and then having Korea's conference buddies include North Korea. He'd already pried into Yong Soo's business enough for one day.

The Korean pressed the button on his key and the car beeped to indicate that it was locked. He was already starting to rush away when Alfred called out to him. "Hey, wait!" he said, pointing the sign with the parking section on it. "Don't make the same mistake I did! You're in section E6, okay?"

Yong Soo waved his hand to indicate that he'd heard. "Okay!" And a moment later he was gone, running off to find an elevator so he could get to whatever floor he needed to be on.

Alfred stood there for a moment, puzzled. Yong Soo hadn't acted like he was in too much of a hurry before. In fact, he couldn't remember him mentioning that he had a meeting so soon after his lunch break. Surely he would've brought that up, right? Being the chatty Korean he was?

But it really wasn't his place to worry about it, so he let it go. Now armed with the knowledge of where he'd parked his car, he went off to find an entrance to the building so that he could figure out what he was supposed to do for the rest of the afternoon.

The parking garage was attached directly to the building on one of the lower levels. The doorway he entered led to a stairwell, and from the stairwell there was a door that led into the building. He glanced at the sign next to the door on his way in. "FLOOR 3" was spelled out in big, white block letters against a black background. So he was on the third floor then… He let the door close and click shut behind him.

Once he was inside, he wandered aimlessly through the halls for a good fifteen minutes looking for something to do. He had no meetings he needed to be at, and it was too early to go back to the hotel for the night. He would have gone to see the city of London, but he'd seen most of its attractions before, and it wasn't as much fun to see alone. He would have preferred to go with Arthur so he could listen to him yak on and on about this and that and what he was up to when this was built, and how this monument commemorated that event. And then he could tease him and say attractions in America were much better, and then laugh when the Englishman got irritated. But alas, Arthur was probably busy in a meeting right now, and even if he wasn’t, he was the host. He couldn't be expected to leave to go show some former colony around the city anyway. It hurt a little, knowing Arthur didn't have as much time for him anymore. It'd been a long time since they'd just…hung out.

Perhaps there was someone else around who didn't have anything to do. A few nations were wandering the halls as well, but most of them were dressed sharply and carrying briefcases. That was a pretty sure sign that they were going to a meeting, not looking for a way to kill time. He sighed, anticipating a boring afternoon ahead.

He continued his wandering. The halls up here were finely carpeted, mostly red with ornate designs criss-crossing all over the floor. The walls were a warm beige color, decorated with paintings of plants and animals, mostly birds. Every once in a while there might be a real, potted plant making itself at home next to a cushioned bench, one of which Alfred immediately took a seat on as soon he saw it. He was still tired from getting up early this morning. Maybe he would just…nap here…

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew he was blinking awake on that same cushioned bench. The halls seemed to be deserted now. He hoped no one had seen him randomly sleeping on some bench in the conference center! What time was it anyway? The American reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his phone. 2:34 PM it said. So he'd been out about an hour.

Sitting up, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and blinked the sleepiness from his eyes, waiting for the heavy grogginess of sleep to leave his head. Well, he'd killed an hour's worth of time, at least. But he still needed to find something to do for a couple of hours or he feared he might actually die of boredom!

When he felt awake enough to focus, he stood up from the bench and took a long, luxurious stretch. Ahh, that felt good. But where was everybody? It suddenly occurred to him that he was on the third floor. Maybe he needed to get down to the ground floor, and then he might run into some people. Walking down the hall a little ways, he finally found an elevator, pressed the button, and waited. Alfred could hear machinery and cables moving in the column on the other side of the doors, but it didn't keep him from being impatient. Ugh! It actually made it seem like it was taking longer, with all the noises but the elevator never actually showing up.

Just when he was about to start jamming the button again, the doors popped open and he was greeted by the faces of a couple of African nations who must have been on their way down from the parking garage. Stepping inside, he wedged himself in between them and waited for the elevator doors to close.

"Hi!" he said smiling, hoping to strike up some simple conversation at the very least.

" _Jambo_?" one of them asked. She was dark skinned, with her black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She had those lines around the corner of her eyes that told you she smiled a lot. Alfred recognized her as Kenya. "How are you, America?"

"I'm good!" he replied, grinning. "But I'm _super_ bored!"

The other nation—who Alfred thought might be Uganda, though he wasn't really sure—stood quietly in the corner, observing the two from a respectful distance with a soft smile. His hair was really short, shaved very close to his head.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" Kenya replied, offering him an apologetic smile. "I would offer to do something with you, America! But we're on our way to a meeting…"

Alfred's smile faded slightly with the disappointment. It seemed like he was the only person who didn't have a meeting this afternoon, which was unusual. Normally he was always being called away to try and mediate other nations' problems, but it was as if God had purposefully giving him free time when everyone else was busy just to make him bored! It was like some kind of punishment.

"It's okay," he said, glancing up to see what floor they were on. The number changed and suddenly they were on the ground floor. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. "Hey, maybe I'll see you guys later though?" he said, like he was trying to reassure himself as he stepped out.

"Maybe!" Kenya replied, stepping out of the elevator along with her companion. "See you later, America. Have a nice day!" She gave him a little wave, and then the two of them headed off in the other direction.

Alone once more, Alfred looked back and forth down the hall each way. The Africans had gone to the right, which led to the conference rooms. He probably wasn't going to find any entertainment down there, unless he was going to go snooping on other people's meetings again. He looked down the hall to his left, where there was a large, open lobby area. There were a few nations loitering around there, so maybe if he went that way he'd find someone who was just as bored as he was!

Strolling down to the lobby, he started looking around immediately. There were a few South American nations gathered in the far corner, babbling in Spanish so fast Alfred couldn't have hoped to understand any of it. Sweden and Norway were sitting on a couch near the center of the room, though they seemed like they were doing their best to pretend the other didn't exist. Alfred considered trying to talk to them, but he had a feeling the conversation would dissolve into awkwardness. Neither of one of them was much of a talker.

There were a few other people around, but they all seemed to be on their way to meetings as well. It looked like today just wasn't his day. He began to wish he'd brought his DS or something. Then at least he could have played that until Japan or someone got out of a meeting and could come play with him.

He made his way over to a cushioned chair not far from Sweden and Norway and sat down. If worse came to worse, he would try and engage in conversation with them. But due to the fact that they didn't even seem willing to even talk to each other, he was reluctant. He stretched out on the chair in the meantime.

"Finally awake, capitalist?" a voice sneered behind him. "Or just changing locations, hm? Lazy pig."

Alfred tilted his head back to look. Standing behind him with his arms crossed was North Korea. There was a dark bruise making itself at home across his jaw, evidence of his fight with Yong Soo yesterday. So someone had seen him when he'd been sleeping! And off all people it'd been the stupid commie!

"Go 'way, Korea," Sweden grunted from a few feet away, looking at the Korean over the rims of his glasses. "Don't come 'ere just t'pick a fight."

"I'll do what I want," North Korea retorted, frowning hard at the opposition he was getting just for showing up.

"What _do_ you want, commie?" Alfred asked, still looking at him with his head tilted backwards. He was actually somewhat grateful he'd shown up when he had. Something to do at last! And there were few things more fun than pissing off a commie. "Don't you have a meeting to be at?"

"No," North said, shrugging. "South and I are banned from our meetings today. I just wanted to let everyone know how you've been sleeping on the jo—"

"Wait," Alfred interrupted, sitting up and turning around to look at him. His neck was beginning to hurt. "You got banned from your meetings? Because of that fight? But Yong Soo said—"

"The brat's a liar," North said, his brows drawing together at the mention of his twin.

"You didn't even hear what I was gonna say!"

"It doesn't matter. He's a liar."

Alfred sat there staring at him, bewildered. "Why are you such a jerk to him? Doesn't it matter to you at all that he's your brother?"

"Go 'way if yer gonna fight," Sweden grumbled from his spot on the couch. "No one wants t'listen t'yer bickerin'."

"Honestly," Norway chided in agreement, glaring at them. "I thought I'd get a break from all that after I got out of my last meeting.

"Fine, fine, fine," Alfred grumbled, trying to draw the conversation away from the building argument somewhat. He looked back to the Korean. "At least tell me then: You got banned from your meetings because you guys fought, right?"

North Korea nodded. "South's too much of a goody-good to get banned for anything else."

"You're banned from all your meetings today or just the meetings with him?"

"It wouldn't matter. All we had scheduled for today was more meetings with Asia anyway."

It didn't really make sense. So Yong Soo had lied about having to run off to a meeting after lunch. But why would he lie about that? Was he embarrassed that he'd gotten banned from his meetings today? Possibly, but that didn't explain why he'd been in such a rush when they'd gotten back from lunch. If he was banned from his meetings, he wouldn't have anywhere to be. So why rush? Come to think of it, if he wasn't in a meeting, then where was he? It didn't add up.

"So why are you here then?" Alfred asked.

"I don’t have anything else to do." The North Korean shrugged. "I can at least wait until some meetings get out and talk to friends in between."

A wry smile crept onto America's face as he struggled to contain his laughter. The Korean had just set himself up for a perfect insult. "You have friends?" Alfred knew it was a low blow, but it was just too perfect to pass up.

The irritation showed instantly on the Korean's face. "Yes…I do." It was apparent that he was holding back. He probably wanted to punch Alfred's lights out just for that one little comment, but didn't want to risk getting in more trouble.

"Who?" Alfred challenged, smiling haughtily.

The Korean made a face and started listing them off. "Iran, Syria, Pakistan, Leban—"

"You sound like you're 'friends' with a bunch of mobsters," Alfred sneered, chuckling. "They're all halfway across the world from you and all you do is trade weapons with them."

"You don't have any friends," North Korea countered. "Just a bunch of 'allies.' They wouldn't stand up for you if you…didn't have things they needed." It was clear North Korea was reluctant to admit that America had influence; much less that he was a superpower.

"Well, do your 'friends' ever stand up for you?" Alfred challenged, still giving him a cocky grin. "None of them have ever said anything in your defense."

"Iran—"

"'Merica, go somewhere else," Sweden insisted again. "Before I get up 'n drag you both 'way by the scruff o' the neck."

"… _Fine_ ," Alfred finally agreed. This conversation was probably going to get to be too much for the lobby anyway.

Standing up from his seat, Alfred stepped around the back of the chair and took the Korean roughly by the arm. North Korea pulled back almost immediately. "Let go of me!" he snarled, tugging on his arm. A couple of the South Americans in the corner turned to look at all the commotion. But Alfred didn't stop, instead dragging the Korean, still struggling, down the hall just past the elevators before finally allowing North Korea to wrench his arm away.

"What are you doing?" the Korean demanded, holding back less now that there weren't as many people around.

"Look!" Alfred said, serious now. "I don't know what your problem is, but it's gotta stop! Why are you such a jerk to Yong Soo?"

"You stay out of our business, American!" North Korea snapped, his eyes locked onto Alfred's. "It's _your_ fault things are the way they are!"

Alfred flinched slightly at the sudden accusation, but he knew he shouldn't really be surprised. It was nothing new. "What? How is it my fault? Everything that's wrong between you two is your own fault! You're the one who's always threatening him! You're the one who insists he's a liar without even knowing what he said!"

"My brother's an idiot," North growled, never taking his eyes off Alfred. "You poisoned his mind against me with your capitalist propaganda years ago. He completely disregards family to go frolicking off with equally idiotic people such as yourself." He snorted softly. "He's even starting to take a liking to that Japanese bastard! Has he forgotten the years of suffering we went through under his tyranny?"

"Your brother is his own person!" Alfred could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was North seriously convinced Alfred had “poisoned” Yong Soo? "If he wants to be a free country, he's going to be a free country! If he wants to like Japan, he's going to like Japan! You can't control him! Are you sure he's the idiot here? Last I checked, _he_ wasn't the one struggling to feed his own people!"

One of the doors opened down the hall, and Alfred realized with horror that a meeting had just gotten out. Shit! And here he was in the middle of the hall arguing rather loudly with a nation everyone else knew he didn't get along with. But it was a little late to drag North Korea off to some other location. With the mood North was in right now, trying to move him the same way he had before was only going to cause more of a scene.

"They're not starving!" North objected. "That's more of your propaganda! Once again trying to—"

"Oh, just shut up!" Alfred snapped. "I'm not stupid! The whole world knows your crazy leader spends so much money on your stupid military that all your people are stuck eating grass. Are you proud of that? Do you even care about them?"

The Korean's face was turning red with rage. "Don't even imply that I don't care about my people, you lying—"

" _Dìdì_!"

A scolding voice suddenly rose above the arguing, and North's expression instantly changed to something like that of a child's when they get caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. He knew just by the sound of that voice that he was in deep trouble.

He whipped around, looking like he was already digging through the depths of his mind for an explanation. " _Hyung_ —"

China, who must've been in the meeting that had just ended, marched towards the pair, his face just as red as his flag as his eyes whipped between the American and the Korean before finally locking on the Korean as he decided he was going to deal with his misbehaving younger sibling first. North Korea straightened up and stood stiffly, facing him. He realized he'd just pissed off his most important ally, and that he was probably in for a beating now.

Alfred took a fairly large step back, but China shot him a look that said, 'don't you _dare_ go anywhere!' Alfred stood statue still after that. China could be scary when he was angry! Alfred didn't dare move, and could only glance around at the confused nations who were passing by as he stood awkwardly awaiting his fate to be dealt at the hands of China.

China took the Korean roughly by the front of the shirt as soon as soon he was close enough to reach him. Alfred couldn't see North's face, but he guessed it was probably a mix of bewilderment and actual fear. North Korea was probably one of the few people who did things that upset China enough to ever see him this angry. The Korean held his hands up in surrender and hastily began trying to explain himself in stammering Chinese, but China would have none of that. China raised his voice above North Korea's and must have been giving him a lecture to end all lectures in Mandarin, because the Korean didn't speak again after that. Alfred knew some Chinese thanks to doing business in Asia, but China was speaking so quickly and angrily that he picked up little more than his own name in the rapid jumble of words.

China said something short and terse, and the Korean responded with what must have been something like a 'yes sir.' China finally let him go, then pointed down the hall towards the conference rooms, and watched as the Korean walked stiffly in that direction, just to make sure he actually went. When he was out of earshot, he turned his eyes on Alfred.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" China demanded, suddenly seeming like he towered over America even though in reality he was several inches shorter. "I don't know what is going on but you must be a complete imbecile to think it's a good idea to try talking to him in the middle of the hall!"

"China, I—"

"No! You be quiet and listen to me!" China roared, taking another step closer. The nations who were passing by looked at the two curiously, then decided it was best not to be involved and quickly scurried past them. "You should have learned by now that you can't have a reasonable conversation with him! He won't listen no matter what you tell him. When you try and talk reason to him you just make things worse. Especially when it's _you_ , because he believes everything you say is some kind of plot or conspiracy! Do you realize what kind of damage you're causing when you talk to him? He's going to take everything you say to heart, whether you mean it or not! And he'll go back to his isolation and do who knows what kind of planning against you and Yong Soo! You think he lets his boss go around building weapons like nobody's business because he's _bored_? Every time you talk to him he thinks you're up to something, and that just makes him all the more eager to get back home and build weapons! What if one day he got the idea you and South were going to try something and launched one of them? You want to be responsible for something like that just because you said something that he took the wrong way?"

"He's stupid if he tries to blow something up just because I said something that upset him!"

China was fuming by now. "He's irrational, America! I've been around far longer than you have! I can tell when someone's just about lost their willingness to cooperate, and he's definitely at that point. _Don't push him_. Do you understand me?"

Alfred was still staring at him, wide-eyed. Getting lectured by China was like getting lectured by an over-protective parent! He hadn't gotten this kind of scolding since way back in his colonial days, when he'd let a snake loose in a guest room where one of Arthur's officials had been staying. He couldn't say he agreed with everything China said. _Something_ had to get through to North Korea, he just hadn't found out what it was yet. But, he nodded stiffly, just to get China to back off.

China stood down, huffing in frustration. "Don't let me catch you hanging around him," he warned, giving Alfred a sharp look.

"Fine," Alfred agreed, though he didn’t have any intention of holding up to that agreement.

"Hm," China grunted, still glaring at him. "I better not."

Alfred offered him a forced smile, but China just waved a dismissive hand at him before turning and disappearing down the hall, leaving Alfred alone once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dìdì = 'little brother' in Mandarin Chinese
> 
> Hyung = 'older brother' in Korean
> 
> China is North Korea's most valuable ally. The North Koreans rely on them heavily for economic and humanitarian aid, which is why it's so important that North doesn't piss China off. He can't afford to lose that alliance.
> 
> And lastly, America or any other nation's views on a particular subject do not necessarily reflect my own, RE: America's comments on the Middle East, which is a situation much more complicated than his comment makes it out to be. Unfortunately, since most Americans don't fully understand the situation, his views reflect that.
> 
> Actually, a lot of this fic is based in the premise that most situations are much more complicated than they appear.


	5. Just Stuff About Things

Alfred lay awake in bed that night thinking about the many questions swimming in his head. What if Yong Soo had been in such a hurry to run off because he was meeting someone? But then…who was he meeting and why? Would the person just be a friend or would he be plotting something with them against another nation? If they were plotting something, then what? And against who? But then Alfred had to take a moment and remind himself that the idea that Yong Soo was having secret meetings with people was a ridiculous one and that surely he'd been doing something much more…innocent. Which would, of course, remind Alfred that he had no idea what leisurely activities Yong Soo could possibly have to rush off too in the middle of London, and he would continue to worry and speculate.

As for what might get through to North Korea, well, Alfred didn't even have an idea.

At some point his mind must have calmed down enough for him to get to sleep, because the next thing he knew, he was jolting awake to the abrasive buzz of the hotel clock's alarm. His fingers groped for the off button and he gave a half-sigh, half-groan of relief when the noise was finally cut off. Blinking sleep from his bleary eyes, he sat up slowly and took in the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room for a moment. Finally, he dragged himself from the warm embrace of the bed and went to get dressed.

The morning's meetings were long and tedious, as expected. The longest of them was with the Europeans, so of course Alfred had to endure Arthur's constant cynicism toward every idea he proposed. It got extremely old after a while. How was Alfred supposed to help out Europe with their economy problem if Arthur insisted on disagreeing with every single thing he said? After a while it got so old that the American finally just shut his mouth and listened to the rest of them argue, somewhat grateful that the Englishman's attention would now be focused on someone else.

When the meeting ended hours later with few agreements, he wasn't surprised, and left feeling like he could have skipped the whole meeting. What a great waste of a day! It was no wonder world politics moved so slowly. Not that the nations themselves really got much say—they just got to hand suggestions and observations to their bosses and hope it amounted to something. They could tell their bosses how so-and-so felt about some idea or suggestions other nations had given, but in the end the decisions fell on their leaders, not them. If the nations' meetings had been unproductive, the information they gave back to their bosses would be equally useless, and world relations would go nowhere.

That was how it always had been, and how it always would be.

Since it was well past noon and Alfred still hadn't eaten, he decided the first thing he should do was grab some food. He didn't have another meeting until the evening, so he had the next few hours to himself.

While he was trying to decide where to go for lunch, he saw a familiar face passing him out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Yong Soo." Alfred reached out to clap a hand firmly on the Korean's shoulder to keep him from walking past.

Yong Soo stopped and cast a wary glance at Alfred. "Oh, hey, Alfred," he said before averting his eyes. For a moment, it looked like he might not say any more, then he seemed to force himself to continue. "Look, I, um, need to talk to you."

Alfred pulled back a little in surprise. Well, that had certainly caught him off-guard. Alfred had expected to be the one demanding to talk to Yong Soo, not the other way around. Maybe whatever Yong Soo needed to talk to him about had to do with where he'd been yesterday.

"Are you about to go to a meeting?" Alfred asked, eyeing the other's suit and tie.

"I just got out of one."

"Perfect. I was about to go to lunch, so we can talk about it then if you haven't eaten yet."

"I haven't, so that works."

They ended up back at The Stockpot, both of them in their suits and ties.

After the waitress had come to take their orders, Alfred looked at Yong Soo expectantly. The other had been silent since they had arrived. Clearly, if Alfred ever wanted to know what Yong Soo needed to tell him, he'd just have to start the conversation himself. "You said you wanted to talk about something?" he prompted, watching as the other stirred the water the waitress had brought for him with his straw.

"Yeah…" Yong Soo started hesitantly, making a face like he wasn't exactly sure how to begin. His eyes remained focused on his water, and he was quiet for a moment as he watched his straw create a mini-whirlpool in his cup. Alfred remembered how Yong Soo had done the same thing last time they'd been here, when the subject of North Korea had come up.

"Well…?" Alfred asked when Yong Soo was still silent a moment later. Yong Soo shot him a frustrated look as if to say, "Don't rush me."

Finally, Yong Soo let out a frustrated sigh. "I got a call from my boss last night," he said, sparing a glance at Alfred for only a moment. "You know those military drills North kept threatening 'deadly retaliation' over if we went through with them? …Yeah, well, we are."

Alfred stared. "You're doing them anyway?"

"Yes. And, um…there's something else," Yong Soo continued, looking very uncomfortable indeed. "I hope you didn't have any plans for Christmas this year…because my boss said he got a call from your president, and apparently the North Koreans are asking you to send a delegation to talk to them before we start the drills. And since we're not sure how much influence North has with his leaders, my boss is asking if you can go too. Just assess things." He looked up for a moment to see Alfred's reaction. "So…yeah."

It took a moment for Alfred to wrap his head around all the information that had just been dumped on him. "Okay, um…"

His first reaction had been a little twinge of fear. North Korea  _had_ responded negatively to South Korean drills before. They  _had_ fired back, resulting in the deaths of four people on a border island, not so long ago. Alfred bit his lip. He still remembered all his frantic phone calls to Yong Soo, asking if he was okay, if people had been hurt, if he thought they were going to war. It was all still fresh in his mind. There was no telling what North Korea might do if South Korea went through will drills the North Koreans had already threatened retaliation for. It seemed like a recipe for disaster. Alfred had already spent the '50s fighting a war to make sure South Korea stayed democratic, out of the clutches of communism. Things had been so tense between the two Koreas in the past year that there was simply no telling what would happen. If North Korea retaliated, it could drag both Koreas—and America, due to his alliance with South—into another war. 

And Alfred's second reaction, of course, had been disappointment. The World Conference was always held in December, so the nations could get their affairs in order for the year ahead, and plan their end-of-the-year celebrations with other nations once business was done. Christmas was one of Alfred's favorite holidays, and obviously he didn't want to miss it! He and Matthew and Arthur and Francis and sometimes more of their relatives usually got together for a couple of days of celebration and general hijinks. It would break his heart to miss it, but this sounded serious.

"I wonder why my boss didn't call me…" Alfred wondered quietly. It seemed like something the president would have let him know about.

"Maybe you'll get a call from him later?" Yong Soo suggested. "Maybe he's still deciding if he wants to send someone or not. Or maybe he wanted to wait until you're back on your own soil to tell you."

"Maybe," Alfred muttered, frowning. The president  _did_ have a lot of things to worry about. Letting Alfred know about  _one_ of them could have easily slipped the man's mind. "Well, wait… you mean the North Koreans asked for Americans? Specifically?" he asked, wondering why Yong Soo didn't just send some guys of his own.

"They seem to like you guys better, as strange as it sounds," Yong Soo said, frowning. "Specifically, they asked for the governor of New Mexico. They like him for some reason. And I don't think they'd want a delegation from us when we're the ones they're mad at in the first place anyway."

"But North is _always_ mad at me," Alfred objected. "He makes a huge point of making sure I know he hates me."

Yong Soo shrugged, seeming to lighten up a little since they'd started talking. "Hey, I can't explain the things he does! He'd rather talk to you apparently, but I couldn't tell you why."

It was then that the waitress showed up with their food. They'd ordered something different than what they'd gotten last time, deciding today on Shepherd's Pie. Alfred poked at the top crusty part with his fork, trying to figure out if Arthur had ever fed him anything like this or not. Yong Soo, on the other hand, dug right in, making a face initially but continuing to eat without a problem after that. After a moment, Alfred joined him, taking a cautious bite out of the crust on top.

As it turned out, the top part was potatoes with some weird spices in it (which must have been what Yong Soo was making a face at). It wasn't bad—it just took a moment to get used to. As he got farther in, there was meat in the middle, which Alfred guessed was mutton based on the name.

After eating a little bit, Alfred decided to ask Yong Soo some questions of his own.

"Speaking of your brother, I talked to him yesterday," Alfred said, gulping down a mouthful of potato crust.

Yong Soo froze with his fork halfway to his mouth and stared at Alfred. "About what?"

"Well," America began, quickly wiping at his face with a napkin, "I was just chillin' in the lobby after my meetings, when suddenly your bro showed up trying to pick a fight. We avoided the fight mostly, but you know what he told me?" He gave Yong Soo a very deliberate stare. "He said you and him got banned from your meetings yesterday because of that fight on the first day. But after lunch yesterday you rushed off because you said you had a conference." He leaned in a little to pressure the Korean. "So, if you were banned from your conferences yesterday, where did you rush off to?"

The Korean's eyebrows knitted together to form that look he always gave Alfred when he was confused and slightly bewildered. Clearly he hadn't expected to be drilled with questions about his afternoon activities of the previous day. Admittedly, Alfred had probably caught him off guard with the question, and he normally didn't speak to the Korean with such a serious tone either.

"Well…" Yong Soo started, hesitantly, like he was thinking of how to piece everything he was about to say together. "Yesterday…I rushed off because…you remember that car that was behind us when I was trying to find a place to park? And you know how when you look in the rear-view mirror, sometimes you can see the face of the person in the car behind you? Well, I thought the guy in the car behind us looked a lot like North." His tone changed suddenly as he began speaking faster. "Not that I know for sure that it was or not! But whoever it was didn't look too happy and I didn't want to take the chance. So I got out of there as quick as I could."

After a moment, Alfred nodded, finding the explanation for why he'd rushed off sufficient. He did remember the dark car behind them. Commies probably drove dark cars right? It seemed right anyway. But Yong Soo still hadn't said what he'd done instead of going to a meeting. If he'd been in the lobby, Alfred should have seen him, but he hadn't.

"Okay," he said, eyes still boring into the other. "But what did you do instead of going to a meeting then? I didn't see you anywhere."

Yong Soo seemed to hesitate a little longer this time. "I was talking to your brother."

The corners of Alfred's mouth twitched into a frown. What business would Yong Soo have talking to Matthew?

"To Mattie? About what?"

"Just stuff."

"…What sort of stuff?"

"Just…stuff!"

"Like what?"

"Just stuff about things! It's not important okay?" the Korean snapped, causing Alfred to flinch. It wasn't often that Yong Soo snapped at him, though he seemed to sink down a moment later, regretting the outburst. "Like…what to get you for Christmas and stuff! It's not important! Just stuff!"

Just stuff. That answer didn't satisfy him. It seemed to him that Yong Soo wasn't telling him the full truth. If it had been something he could tell Alfred, he surely would have told him right off. Normally the Korean was itching to tell him everything. If it really was 'just stuff,' he surely would have gone off about the oh-so-interesting conversation he'd had with Matthew about video games or food or something like that. But instead, the Korean had sounded defensive. What reason would he have to hide what he'd been talking about with Canada of all people?

"You're sure?" Alfred asked again, not really expecting anything more but figuring it was worth a shot.

"I'm positive," Yong Soo answered, deciding once more that his food was a much safer thing for his eyes to look at than Alfred. It was clear Alfred wasn't going to get any more answers out of him today. Maybe talking to Matthew would give him better results.

"A-anyway…" Yong Soo continued, taking one last bite of his Shepherd's Pie and washing it down with a gulp of water. "If your boss does decide to send you, we can do our gift exchange before you go see North. That will be okay, right?" He looked a little guilty bringing it up again. "I'm really sorry. If you do end up going, you might be there over Christmas."

"No, it's fine," Alfred responded, though he was still feeling a bit disappointed about it. He'd just have to keep reminding himself that world peace was more important that his individual plans. "And yes, that would work. I'd like to see what Christmas is like in your country. Do many people celebrate it there?"

"Some," Yong Soo said simply. "More than you'd think."

"Huh." Alfred simply nodded his response.

For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence.

"Um…" Yong Soo arranged what food was left in the dish with his fork so that it lined the sides of the dish, perhaps to make it look like he hadn't actually left as much as he had. "We should probably go. Do you have evening conferences today?"

"Yeah, I do. We should get going."

The two of them paid and made their way back out to the car through the chill air of the city of London. Even as they rode back to the conference center with the upbeat sound of K-pop blasting from the speakers, Alfred still couldn't help feeling uneasy about the day's events and those to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the shelling of Yeonpyeong Island and amid rising tensions due to planned military drills by South Korea, North Korea actually did request to speak to New Mexico governor Bill Richardson, who was invited to the country by North Korea's Minister of Foreign Affairs Kim Kye Gwan.


	6. Flights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's literally been over a year since I've uploaded anything. I will again be uploading completed chapters of this story to AO3 (there are more on FF.net if you want to track them down there instead of wait), after editing them a bit. Enjoy!

The whole week seemed to blur together. If the meetings Alfred had attended earlier in the week had been boring, then these were like watching grass grow. They seemed slower, longer, and far less progressive than any he'd been to prior to that. No one was willing to budge. Few were willing to make deals. He might as well have not attended, because his presence didn't seem to make any of the meetings move along or solve anything.

He saw little of Yong Soo for the rest of the week. Once or twice they passed each other in the hall, and though Yong Soo would smile at Alfred as he walked by, Alfred had a feeling he was smiling simply to maintain a level of friendliness. The Korean's eyes didn't shine the way they usually did when he smiled, and his eyebrows knitted together the way they did when he was worried. Even Alfred, who was notorious for not being able to read people, could tell it was fake.

North Korea also seemed to decide not to bother him anymore, because the one time Alfred had managed to spot him after his talk with China, the Korean scurried away before Alfred had a chance to talk to him.

When Alfred at last left the final meeting of the week, it was a big burden lifted from his shoulders. At least, for a while, he could stop worrying about meetings between nations whose problems he would be little help in fixing. For a while. He still had a long flight back to Washington in the morning, a day or two of jet lag, and of course, a talk with the President about the issue of North Korea.

Out of all the nights after the conferences, it was probably the best night of sleep he'd gotten. After taking a quick shower and watching a little television, Alfred climbed into bed and fell right asleep. It was a good thing too, as he suspected he'd be suffering many sleepless nights in the near future.

He awoke sometime around 9:00am, nearly fully rested, though he had a feeling he'd be a bit mentally fatigued from all the meetings for at least a few days. With his flight back to the States leaving around 1:45pm (nonstop, arriving in Baltimore at 5:20pm), he had plenty of time to pack up, check out, and grab some lunch before heading over to the airport.

It took him maybe a half hour to pack up all his things. He still had an hour to kill, but he quickly grew bored with British television and pulled out his phone. Normally, he would have called Yong Soo, but Alfred had a feeling the Korean wouldn't really want to talk to him. Maybe there was someone else nearby that he could hang out with for about an hour.

One of the first people to appear on his contacts list was Arthur Kirkland. Alfred smiled. Perfect. Arthur might still be nearby, helping to clean up after the conferences. Alfred pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear.

After four rings, Arthur answered.

"What do you want?" he griped into the phone before Alfred even had a chance to greet him.

"Good morning to you too, Arthur," Alfred answered, rolling his eyes. "Where are you?"

"Why do you want to know?" the Englishman demanded hotly. Alfred could almost see him tapping his foot impatiently on the other end of the line.

"I wanted to know if I could come hang out with you for a while. I'm bored and we don't see each other as much as we used t-"

"I'm busy," Arthur said flatly. "Busy cleaning up the mess you and all the other delegates left at the conference center. And I have a meeting with London officials in an hour."

"...You wanna take a break? Just for a few minutes?" Alfred asked hopefully. It always seemed like Arthur was too busy for him. It was the way their relationship had been for a long time. When he wasn't rearing a childish American in the New World, he'd been busy raising an empire elsewhere. Though his empire was long gone, Arthur still seemed to always find a reason to not see him.

"I'm busy," Arthur repeated, not to the American's surprise. "Don't you have a plane to catch or something?"

"Not yet. Can't I just come over there and help you clean up or something? I've got an hour."

There was a short pause. Maybe Arthur had actually considered for a moment that it would be nice to see Alfred cleaning up after not only himself, but other people as well. But in the end, he decided he'd rather not deal with the American. "You would just get over here and then you'd have to leave. I wouldn't want you to miss your flight."

"Because you just want me gone that bad?" Alfred teased into the phone, smiling a little.

He could hear Arthur give a little amused snort on the other end. "Yes. Obviously."

"I know you don't hate me that much."

"No," Arthur conceded, and Alfred could almost see him shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "I never have. You just have a rather unfortunate habit of annoying me, oh...all the damn time."

"I’m _so_ sorry!"

"Oh, I know you are."

Alfred caught himself grinning. "All right, then. Some other time?"

"Perhaps."

Well, that was better than a flat out 'no'.

"Fine. You have fun cleaning up then, ya hear?"

"Oh, I will. Go catch your flight."

"Bye, Cranky."

"Bye, Twat." Then he hung up.

Alfred glanced at the clock. Only 10 o'clock. He'd probably leave for the airport in about forty-five minutes. By now it almost wasn't worth going to meet anybody. At least he'd killed some time talking to Arthur.

Well, it was better to be safe than sorry. Making sure all his belongings were in order, he went to check out of the hotel. At least he would definitely have enough time to get to the airport.

As it turned out, leaving earlier had been a better idea than he'd thought. Traffic ended up being heavier than he'd expected, and being unaccustomed to driving on the left side of the road always made his driving experience in England that much worse.

He made it to the airport right on time though, and successfully returned his rental car, had a quick, early lunch, and got through security with time to spare.

Soon enough he was on his flight home. By no means was it one of the longest flights he'd ever been on, but it certainly seemed that way. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he'd slept so well the night before and couldn't pass the time by sleeping as a result.

It was about 5:00pm in Baltimore when the plane landed. Sighing, Alfred remembered he'd have to adjust to the time difference again. It took him about 20 minutes to find his luggage on the carousel, and he probably spent another hour or so in line at customs.

Finally, he was ready to leave. By now, his head was beginning to throb with the beginnings of a headache. He felt like his vision was beginning to close in, his thoughts getting cloudier as he grew too tired to process what he was seeing. Beyond customs were several people standing around with signs. At first, he couldn't find one with his name, and it was only after the man with a sign labeled 'Alfred' came up to him that Alfred noticed him and recognized him as a White House attendant.

"Are you ready?" the man asked, folding the sign under his arm. Alfred felt a tug of guilt, because though he recognized the man as a White House attendant, he could not remember his name. Maybe he was already feeling the effects of jetlag.

"Ready to get home," he answered, falling in step behind the attendant as he turned to lead Alfred out of the airport. "Let's go."

Rush hour traffic between Baltimore and Washington was absolutely awful that night. Alfred wasn't sure what time it was when they arrived at the White House, but he was beyond caring. He didn't actually live in the White House with the president - at least not most of the time - but because he ended up spending a lot of his time there, he had a fully equipped room on one of the upper levels. His usual residence was a manor in Pennsylvania, though he had some kind of residence in each of the fifty states. Since he obviously wasn't going to be going anywhere else tonight, he thanked the attendant who'd driven him home, trudged up to his room with his luggage, and fell asleep on the bed without even bothering to unpack.

* * *

 

A pair of big, brown eyes were staring back at him when he awoke the next morning. He pulled back in surprise, and the eyes' owner giggled.

"Good morning, Alfred!" a girl's voice chimed. "Daddy wants you."

"Ugghn," the nation groaned, rolling over and hiding his face back under the covers. "What for?"

"To talk about stuff," the girl replied, sitting back a little now so that she wasn't so close to him. "He didn't say exactly. He just asked me to wake you up."

"Ohmmmf," Alfred mumbled sleepily into the sheets before finally raising his head to peer at the girl. "Thanks..."

"You're welcome. Just make sure you get up."

"'Kay..."

After the girl left, Alfred lay in bed for a few more minutes, savoring its warm embrace before finally hauling himself up and putting on some proper clothes (he was still wearing what he'd worn on the plane the day before).

Though whatever the president wanted to talk to him about could have been any number of things, Alfred knew good and well it would be primarily about the past week's conferences. Then another thought occurred to him. If this meeting with North Korea was really going to be as soon as Yong Soo had said, then it was probably something the president would want to speak to him about as well. Unsure whether it would be just the president or other officials too, Alfred dressed in business casual, pulling on some slacks and a button up shirt, knowing fully that it would be the other officials who would disapprove of poor attire rather than the president, who by now was used to seeing Alfred wandering around the White House in pajamas.

When he got to the office, it was empty except for the president, who sat on one of the couches, scribbling away at something on a clipboard. It would appear Alfred had made the right dress decision, because the president was dressed similarly to how he was – simply, in just a button up shirt and some slacks.

Alfred knocked on the doorframe but proceeded to walk in before the president even had a chance to look up. "Knock, knock."

"Good morning, Alfred," the president said, glancing up from his work for just a moment to acknowledge the nation's presence before looking down at his clipboard again. "How was London?"

"It was fine," Alfred answered, taking a seat on the couch across from him.

"Reach any agreements?"

"A few."

The president seemed to sense that the conferences hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. "A week's not quite long enough, is it?"

"Not for that many conferences, it's not."

"Ah." For a moment, they sat in silence, Alfred watching as the president continued scribbling away. A moment later, he set the clipboard off to the side and gave his nation his full attention.

For a while, they just talked about what agreements had been reached. It was customary for the nations to reach a (theoretical) consensus among themselves, then relay whatever the decisions had been back to their bosses. If the leaders agreed, the arrangements could then become permanent. As for the meetings where no consensus had been reached, Alfred simply told his boss how the other nations had felt about what, and under what conditions a consensus might be reached. It was a method that didn't always solve problems, but it allowed the president to get a better idea of how the other nations felt without having to personally visit the leaders of all of them.

Finally, the president asked: "Did you speak to South Korea?"

"Yes."

"You got those trade agreements sorted out?"

"Yes. I'll bring you those notes later when I bring the others."

The president nodded. "I received a message from President Lee while you were gone. Did South Korea relay it to you?"

"They're going ahead with the drills," Alfred answered, frowning. "And he also told me the North Koreans wanted to speak with us."

"Yes..." The president nodded. "Specifically, they wanted to talk to Bill Richardson of New Mexico. That is encouraging, at least, because it shows they're beginning to take an interest in talking with the US, finally. Though, they still won't talk to South Korea alone. Are you okay with going?"

Alfred nodded. He didn't feel like he had much room to say no. If there was something he could do to keep more violence from happening in Korea, he felt like he had to do it. "Of course. Who else will be going?"

"Mr. Richardson, of course," the president began, looking up to the ceiling as if searching his mind for the list. "Tony Namkung, some advisors, and a few journalists."

"Journalists?" Alfred resisted the urge to groan. It seemed like every time journalists went to North Korea, Alfred had to make a-whole-nother trip to bring them out.

The president seemed to read his thoughts. "I know. But you know how they insist on being in on everything."

Alfred leaned back in his seat and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, giving a long, frustrated sigh. "This is going to make everything more complicated..."

"Just keep an eye on them. Don't let them leave the group for anything."

Despite that advice, both of them knew that was far easier said than done. At least, he thought, whatever North Koreans were assigned to be their handlers would be at least some help in keeping nosy journalists in line.

"Did you get a chance to speak to North Korea about this at all?"

Oh. It occurred to Alfred that the president probably hadn't heard about his little scuff with the North Korean. Or China's stiff warnings. Or the fact that he was a little more nervous talking to either Korea afterwards.

"Not really." Alfred twined his fingers together in his lap. "Kind of hard to hold a conversation with the guy."

"I see..." the president eyed him thoughtfully. "We'll just have to hope that improves when you go to speak with him in his own country."

"Yeah..."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. Perhaps, Alfred thought, the president didn't expect much to come of this trip. Maybe to him it was all a waste of time. Maybe he didn't think there was any hope of easing tensions in Korea and that some kind of violent outbreak was inevitable. It was possible the whole thing was nothing more than a political move to him - something to make it look like the US had tried to do something even though nothing could actually be done. And maybe there was some truth to that. Maybe even the North Koreans didn't think there was a diplomatic solution and simply wanted to make it look like they'd tried diplomacy before resorting to violence. But why, then, had they requested to talk to the United States instead of South Korea? Because they knew no one expected breakthroughs from a North-South talk anyway? Did they think the rest of the world somehow saw a North Korea-US as more promising?

"So, when exactly will I be leaving, then?" Alfred asked, forcing himself to put speculation aside and think a bit more positively.

"We've been told December 14th," the president responded, "But that could change."

Alfred felt his spirits lift a little. Surely they wouldn't be gone for more than a week? That meant there was a chance he'd be home for Christmas.

If we're not at war, he reminded himself sternly. "How long will we be there?"

"Well, keep in mind Mr. Richardson is officially in charge of this trip. The North Koreans asked for him, and though we've approved him to go, my administration and I have nothing to do with the itinerary."

"So...do you know how long it is?"

"I believe Mr. Richardson has told us six days, but as I said...that can change if he decides to leave early or stay longer. I'm sure Mr. Richardson will send you more information when the time nears."

Alfred was silent, now studying his knees as he let this all sink in. Talking about when and where this trip would be made it seem that much more real. And to make it worse, every time Alfred pictured North Korea, all he could see was the man's dark eyes boring into him. Unforgiving and cold. And he couldn't imagine how on earth any number of meetings would achieve anything. But he had to remain optimistic.

"Right, then," he muttered, directing his eyes back to the president, who was already looking back to his clipboard for the next topic of discussion.

"So, about that agreement with China..."

In the days leading up to the trip, Alfred tried to think as little about it as possible. In case he didn't come back, he thought, he ought to give some of his states one last visit. It wasn't possible to visit all 50, obviously, but he did manage to visit a few nearby. Maybe he actually was afraid the delegation would somehow get stuck in North Korea, or maybe he just wanted to relax, but either way, the brief visits did manage to calm his nerves.

On his final free day before the departure, he made a trip to the Pennsylvania countryside for some hiking. Though the famous autumn foliage had already fallen, just being back in nature was very relaxing to him. The fast pace of city life disappeared, and sometimes he felt like he might even be able to forget who he was - that he was the United States of America, that he felt when his people suffered, or could almost buckle under the weight of international stress. What must it feel like to be a normal human, he wondered? Some days he felt like, if he had the option to become a normal human, he would. But then who would do his job? He was aware that his actions as a nation affected not just his own people, but people around the world. His actions touched many - hopefully for the better - even if they'd never know. And it was that that made him believe his nationhood was a position he would never give up, even if he could.

He spent one last night in the Pennsylvania manor, and then it was off to the airport. The flight would connect in Los Angeles, then it would be straight to Beijing, and from there, another flight to Pyongyang. Alfred, though he'd spoken with Mr. Richardson prior to boarding the flight, couldn't help but wonder how prepared he (or any of the other delegates, for that matter) were for this. As he took his seat near the window of the plane, he could only hope the man knew what he was doing.


	7. Entering Prison

When the plane landed, the sun was setting on the city of Beijing. It didn't seem to matter that it was almost nightfall—the airport was just as packed as it would have been any other part of the day. Fighting through the crowd, the delegation followed the signs (which, luckily, had English subtitles) and made their way to baggage claim.

After some scrambling to make sure everyone got their bags before they could be carried away by the conveyor belt, they were all set to wait in the long line to get through the security checkpoint. Alfred desperately wished there were benches or something to sit on, because the line moved incredibly slowly and he was getting tired of standing. It was all horribly inconvenient! On the plane he'd been tired of sitting, and now he was standing but couldn't really move or he'd lose his spot in line. And he had a feeling Mr. Richardson would scold him if he just sat down on the floor right there.

It took a couple of hours, but when they finally got past the checkpoint, they located a driver who had been arranged for them and all piled into a taxi-van. The hotel they'd be spending the night in wasn't too far from the airport, but the traffic was awful and it took them at least another hour to get there. By the time they finally arrived, it was well past sunset.

Mr. Richardson and the rest of the delegation were to go for a quick interview with the journalist, Mr. Blitzer, who was accompanying them on the trip, but Alfred was dismissed up to his room. Luckily—since they didn't want the journalists learning too much about Alfred's nation identity—Alfred was being allowed to stay in his own room, and the journalists had been told that he was simply another official sent to document the trip. A very young official…but Mr. Blitzer seemed to be buying it so far. The fact that Alfred got his own room just allowed him a bit more privacy from prying eyes.

While the others were out for the interview, Alfred took his stuff up to his room and flopped down on the bed. It seemed like he'd been spending a lot of time in hotels lately. Hadn't it been just a week or two ago that he'd been at the World Conference, lying in a hotel bed while he tried to work out Yong Soo's odd behavior? Funny how it all came full circle. Now he sat on the bed staring up at the ceiling—no longer trying to figure out what was making Korea act strangely, but how to fix the problems that caused him to act so. He kicked off his shoes, and let his mind wander.

Of course, one of the first things that came to his mind was whether or not North Korea's request to talk had even been sincere. Sure, maybe the North Koreans had requested to talk to Americans, but that didn't mean North Korea himself had wanted to. That would explain why the Korean had never brought it up to him at the Conferences. It was entirely possible that it was some strategic ploy meant to make the North Koreans look better and that North could care less one way or the other how these talks went. But still, there was always the possibility that he was the one who had wanted them and had somehow managed to convince his boss that they would be beneficial. Maybe he'd just been too proud to bring it up to America himself and had let his officials handle it instead. There would be no real way of knowing until the time finally came when Alfred and the Korean would talk alone.

After a while, he decided the thoughts were a bit too troubling and that maybe some TV would help him calm down. There were no channels in English, but he could understand more or less what was being said, even in Chinese. Of all the languages he'd tried to learn, Chinese was especially difficult, but he was getting a better hold on it with every day that he practiced. After a while, he found that his brain was too tired and jet-lagged to translate anything that was being said and that he'd just been staring at the screen, not comprehending, for a while. What time was it anyway? The clock next to his bed said 11:32, but it didn't feel that late. He was tired, sure, but his body was still running on Pennsylvania time. What time was it there now? He was too lazy to try and calculate.

There was a sound of footsteps from the hallway, and he guessed Mr. Richardson and the others must be finished with their interview. He could hear doors opening and closing, and then suddenly, a knock on his own. Swinging his feet out over the side of the bed and onto the floor, Alfred went to answer.

Mr. Richardson greeted him with a smile and reminded him to be ready in the lobby by 8 o' clock the next morning. When Alfred asked if the interview had gone well, Mr. Richardson said it had. The questions were all basic: "How are you feeling?" "Are you nervous about this trip?" "What's on your mind right now?" He didn't think Mr. Blitzer would pose too much of a problem to the delegation, supposing he didn't accidentally take pictures of something he wasn't supposed to when they arrived in North Korea. It was the best they could hope for anyway.

After a quick briefing on what they'd be doing in the morning, Mr. Richardson bid him goodnight.

After Mr. Richardson left, Alfred went back to his bed, flopped down on it, stripped down to his underwear, and reached over to turn off the lamp. Might as well try and get some sleep anyway. If something went wrong in the next week, it might be the last full night of sleep he got for a while.

* * *

 

The North Korean embassy complex in Beijing took up a whole block. The property was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, and where there wasn't a fence, there was a wall. Giant trees growing behind the walls and fences made the buildings themselves a bit difficult to see. There was a gate on one side, guarded by a uniformed man. As they drove up, Alfred got the impression that they were approaching a prison rather than a building meant for diplomacy.

The driver pulled up to a booth next to one of the gates and spoke to the man inside in rapid Chinese. A moment later, a metal gate was opened—and behind that, another larger wooden, ornate gate— to allow the delegation's van through. As soon as the van was through, the gates slid shut behind them.

Despite the entire city of Beijing looming just outside, it did feel a bit like entering another world. View of the street was obstructed by the wall that surrounded the complex, and the farther in they went, the more the trees hid the buildings outside the complex from view. The embassy building itself wasn't really anything special. Faded yellow brick, maybe four or five stories tall, and shaped like—well, a rectangle—it was pretty average as far as buildings went. Atop it flew the red and blue of the North Korean flag.

The van pulled into a circle drive at the front of the building and the driver gestured for them to step out. Some kind of official waited for them outside and greeted them amiably, giving a small bow. Alfred saw Mr. Richardson give a little bow back, so Alfred gave one too, and when he glanced up, he was happy to see that the rest of the delegation had stopped to give one as well. A moment later, the official led them inside.

They were told to wait in a lobby area for a moment while he went to retrieve their visas. The lobby was fairly nice, if not a bit of a culture shock. Paintings of the North Korean leaders decorated the walls and a few wall scrolls hung here and there. If it had been of any other culture, it might not have seemed so odd to look at. But the fact that the North Korean leader's personality cult seemed to follow him even to his embassies around the world was a little disturbing. Alfred shouldn't have been so surprised by it really—of course the embassies were going to have some national pride—but he was.

The man returned with the visas and some other papers that each of the seven delegates was required to fill out. About fifteen minutes later, they left the building with their visas in hand.

As they left the walled complex, Alfred realized that he was, in essence, leaving a little piece of North Korea. Just a single block in the middle of Beijing managed to look so much like a prison—of course North Korea itself would be much worse.

A few hours later, they were on Air Koryo, the official North Korean airline to Pyongyang. That's what they'd been told, anyway. Did North Korea even allow other airlines to fly into the country, America wondered? You certainly never heard of any other direct flights into North Korea. They always left from and returned directly to Beijing. Air Koryo was probably the only airline. Or the only major one, anyway.

It wasn't a long flight at all. Alfred wasn't keeping track, but it couldn't have been more than about two hours. When they landed, it was late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink towards the North Korean mountains on the horizon.

Almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, they were introduced to their handlers. There were two of them, and they would be overseeing all the delegates' activities during their time here. Guiding them. Answering their questions. Watching them. One of them, Kang Dae, was surprisingly tall and looked pretty well built. He was definitely the body guard sort of type. The other handler, Ki Young, wasn't quite as tall and seemed thinner. Neither of them looked any older than about 35, but Alfred couldn't be too sure.

They had their passports and visas checked, and were then led into a room inside the airport where their phones were confiscated. They wouldn't need them, they were told. They probably wouldn't pick up on North Korean service. _Or they just don't want us calling home._ Alfred thought gravely, and he handed over his phone. There went his connection to the outside world.

He hadn't noticed it until he left the room, but now a small gathering of people with cameras had begun to follow them. Was this…the North Korean version of the paparazzi? Some of them were shouting things at them in a mixture of Korean and broken English, and the ones that reached Alfred's ears more clearly began to translate as:

"Mr. Richardson! Look this way!"

"You there! Can I get a picture?"

"Do you have something to say for the camera?"

Yep, just like the American paparazzi. Alfred kept on walking, pretending that he couldn't understand them. If they got the idea he could speak any Korean at all, they probably wouldn't leave them alone. Already Mr. Nankung had turned to one of the photographers and politely asked him to wait a moment—he'd let him have a picture later— but now that the rest of the photographers had discovered they were being understood by him, he was getting far more attention than the rest of them. Even Mr. Blitzer, the journalist, seemed a little bewildered. He had his camera out and was filming, though he spoke to no one. Finally, Mr. Richardson had them stop, pose as a group for a few pictures, and then asked Ki Young in English if he could get the photographers to back off.

The Korean journalist considered for a moment, apologized, and explained that they just needed something to run on state television tonight. They would leave them alone when they had what they needed. It seemed like a snarky response, but Alfred could tell he was being (at least mostly) truthful. If he was supposed to let the paparazzi do what they wanted, then…that was what he was supposed to do.

After a few more minutes of them rolling cameras and snapping pictures though, he finally did get them to back off. Ki Young and Kang Dae then led them to a room to pick up their luggage, which had been removed from the plane for them, and then took them out into the parking lot to load up in a couple of minivans.

Outside, the sky had grown darker and the remaining sunlight filtered through a layer of gray clouds. The air was moist, but cold. Alfred got the feeling it had probably rained recently. The pavement of the parking lot, even in the dim light, looked wet. The rest of the parking lot was mostly empty, except for a small scattering of cars and two minivans parked away from the rest of the vehicles, obviously meant for them.

When they got there, North was waiting.

He'd been speaking to one of the drivers when they'd arrived, but he turned to watch them as they approached now. He was wearing a long dark coat and gloves, which Alfred thought looked very comfortable right about now. A chill wind was blowing in from the north, and Alfred had simply stuffed his hands in his pockets, having left his gloves in his luggage. They'd only been outside for a few minutes, but already his face was beginning to sting with the cold.

Alfred greeted North with a smile. "What's up, dude? I didn't expect you to be here at the airport." He held out his hand for the Korean to shake, but he half-doubted he'd actually accept the offer.

To his surprise, the Korean hesitated, glanced at the other people gathered, and seemed to decide diplomacy was better for the moment. He grasped Alfred's hand firmly, but didn't seem too enthusiastic about shaking it. Alfred had a feeling the other people on the delegation and Mr. Blitzer's still-rolling camera were the only things that had persuaded him to shake with him.

"I'm only being a good host," the Korean said as if to confirm Alfred’s suspicions, his expression unchanged. "What kind of host doesn't greet his guests?"

Well, he was attempting to be hospitable anyway. For the moment.

"Well, thanks," Alfred said uncertainly, not quite sure how he was supposed to respond to such a defensive statement. "I'm glad you came, anyway."

"Hm."

Okay. So, the Korean wasn't too keen on talking to him, it seemed. Maybe he hadn't been the one who'd wanted the Americans to come. Based on how he was acting, it was pretty likely that it was all his leaders and that this was all just a strategic ploy. Maybe North showing up at the airport to greet them was just a part of his orders. Now, as Alfred was beginning to realize, that reality upset him a little. He wanted to help. He wanted everything that went on in the next week to be sincere. He wanted to have the talks and come to agreements and make things right. It was a lot to ask for, but he thought it could be done if they were all on the same page.

And "on the same page" meant the Korean was going to have to show a bit more enthusiasm.

Mr. Richardson and the others were talking with the handlers as the drivers loaded up their baggage in the back of the vans. No one was paying attention to the nations for the moment. His curiosity had been piqued. Now he had to ask.

Leaning in, he dropped his voice almost to a whisper. "So, did _you_ want to talk to Americans? Or did your boss?"

The Korean's face registered confusion. "…What?"

"Did _you_ ask for us to come? Or are you just going along with it because it's what your boss wants? I want to know."

North's brows knitted together as he considered the question. No doubt he was trying to figure out what Alfred's motives were, and what the consequences might be for either answer. A chill wind picked up once more, and Alfred pulled his jacket tighter around him as he waited for an answer.

"It doesn't matter," North said finally, sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat. "You're here. That's all that matters."

"It does matter! That doesn't answer my question!" Alfred protested, growing frustrated. "I want to know if—"

"Alfred!" Mr. Richardson called. Several car doors slammed shut behind him as the rest of the delegates loaded into the vans. "We need to go."

Alfred looked back to North Korea, almost expecting to see some sort of triumphant look on the other's face, since he'd gotten out of giving him a direct answer. But there was nothing. He was still looking at him with the same dark eyes, almost bored.

"Just go," he said, giving him a dismissive wave of his hand. Clearly their conversation was over. "I will talk to you in the morning."

Alfred sighed, but he wasn't quite ready to give up yet. "I'm coming!" he called back to Mr. Richardson. As soon as the other man was in the van, he turned back to the Korean. The cameras were gone. The people were gone. As long as their voices were soft enough, they could talk freely for a moment. He moved in a little closer, speaking quickly.

"Look. I want to help you, okay? I know things aren't going so well for you right now. I want to help. But you have to cooperate. No bullshit. This is a two-way street. If you wanna be a world player, you have to act like one. I'm not going to just hand things to you and neither is your brother. But, I really do want to help you, okay? Don't just assume everybody's out to get you."

The Korean narrowed his eyes, and suddenly Alfred got the feeling that maybe something he said had offended him. "I don't assume—"

One of the minivans started behind them. Their time was almost up.

"We just have to work on this together, okay?" Alfred said again. Man. He didn't want to sound like he was pleading with the North Korean or something, but he _really_ wanted all of this to turn out okay. The last thing they needed was a second Korean War, and with South Korean warships along with his own lining up to basically show how badly they could potentially blast North Korea out of the water, the more likely that prospect was looking. And it would be nice if they could just get along in general. To get along during the next week especially would be very important.

He waited a moment to see if North was going to answer him, but he just stood there, staring at him silently.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Alfred said, feeling a little awkward at the lack of response. He clapped a hand on the other's shoulder, hoping that somehow, it would be interpreted as a sign of friendship. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," the Korean muttered, and turned to go back inside the airport.

Alfred got into one of the vans, grateful, at least, that it was warm inside. His face was flushed from the cold, stinging, though it eventually began to warm up in the air of the van. His conversation with North Korea hadn't gone very well, and he knew that. For one, it hadn't been much of a conversation, since he did most of the talking. But it hadn't ended in insults or an argument, so it was a start at least. Maybe the Korean would go home tonight and think about some of the things he'd said. Then again, maybe he was being too optimistic.

As the vans pulled out of the parking lot, the first snowflakes began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, much of this is based off the trip to North Korea taken by Bill Richardson in late 2010 to help relieve Korean tensions following the bombardment of Yeonpyong. I believe I mentioned that on the last update, but if anyone is interested in learning more about that particular trip or North Korea in general, you can watch the CNN documentary "Six Days in North Korea," on which the next few chapters are based. It used to be on YouTube, but I think it's been taken down. You might be able find it somewhere else though.


	8. Snow

By morning, snow clung to the branches of trees and the ledges of buildings. It accumulated in the crevices of the roofs and statues. No effort had yet been made to clear the wide, empty streets, leaving them as open expanses of white. The sun peeked through the clouds every now and then, glistening off the new fallen snow. Any grime that might have been there was hidden. The whole city seemed clean and pristine.

It all seemed very surreal. From his seat by the window in the van, Alfred could see every detail of the North Korea capital. Giant murals portraying brave North Korean soldiers and patriotic citizens had been painted on almost every corner. There were statues of the North Korean leaders everywhere. Propaganda posters the size of billboards hung from the sides of eerily similar buildings. The streets were wide—much wider than the average street in the States—but oddly, the minivans were among only a few cars on them, even after they'd entered a portion of the city where the streets had been cleared. Once, they passed a line of soldiers marching—yes, marching—through several inches of snow. Practically identical buildings lined the streets, their windows dark.

But by far the most striking was the silence.

The drivers pulled the vans to a stop in front of an unmarked building. When Alfred stepped out, not so much as a birdsong reached his ears. There was no sound of traffic, no human voices. None of the sounds you would typically expect in a capital city. Even the wind was still. It was dead silent, even the scuffle of his shoes on the ground muffled by the surrounding snow.

Mr. Blitzer filmed the scene with a handheld camera as the rest of the delegation unloaded. Once everyone was out, their handlers led them inside.

A variety of officials met them just inside the door, greeting Mr. Richardson and Mr. Nankung amiably in Korean. Everybody shook hands as a couple of translators went to work decoding the greetings for each respective party. Someone tapped Alfred on the shoulder.

There were those dark eyes again.

"Good morning, American," North Korea said, giving a small bow, though he didn't seem too happy about it.

"I have a name, you know," Alfred objected, frowning. "I mean, I know I'm America and all, but you need to loosen up. Stop being so stiff. Just call me Alfred. We have a guy here who's not supposed to know who I am anyway."

That seemed to pique the Korean's interest. "Which one?" he asked, seemingly ignoring Alfred's request to be called by his human name.

He cocked his head toward Mr. Blitzer, who was still filming as the delegations greeted each other.

"Journalist?" North Korea asked again, eyeing the man with intrigue.

Alfred hesitated. He knew all the awful stories about journalists being kidnapped and sent to prisons in North Korea just for reporting there. Mr. Blitzer had been given permission as long as he was with the Richardson delegation, but Alfred wasn't sure how comfortable he was pointing out that he was the journalist.

North spoke again before he could confirm or deny though. "He'll have to go."

That sounded a lot more threatening than it was probably meant to. "Why?" Alfred questioned. "He's not hurting anything. He's just holding a camera."

"He can't stay for the meeting," North insisted. "It's private. Important business. He's got to go." And he promptly turned and got the attention of one of the handlers, spoke to him quickly in Korean, motioning to Mr. Blitzer and his camera, before turning back to America.

"So what's he supposed to do while we're in there then?" Alfred wasn't worried about Mr. Blitzer getting bored, so much. More he was worried that the Koreans might try and do something to him while they weren't looking, like take him off somewhere and interrogate him.

"He'll wait out here with Kang Dae," was North's answer, tilting his head in the direction of the handler he'd just spoken to. Great, the bigger, body guard-looking handler. He didn't feel comfortable leaving poor Mr. Blitzer out here with him alone.

"No," Alfred answered flatly. "No, I'm not letting him stay out here alone with you Koreans." Okay, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. North looked offended.

"So pick someone to stay out here with him then," North suggested, voice tense.

"I'll stay."

"No. You and I need to talk. Alone."

Geez, what was it with North and this “alone” stuff? Suddenly Alfred had a horrible thought that maybe he was trying to separate the members of the delegation and pick them off one by one! But that sounded like something out of a horror movie. Despite how North Korea was easily the creepiest country he'd been to, Alfred didn't think that could be right. The Koreans were just overly paranoid.

"Hold that thought," he replied tersely before turning on his heel and stalking off to find Mr. Richardson, the one person who might have some power over this situation. He could feel North's eyes burning into the back of his head.

He hated to interrupt, but in a brief pause in his conversation with one of the North Korean officials, Alfred caught Mr. Richardson's attention and pulled him aside a few steps. "They want Mr. Blitzer to stay out here all alone with the big guard," Alfred complained, almost feeling like a small child tattling on a bully.

"I know," Mr. Richardson replied, acting like there was no problem with this at all. "That is what we agreed upon."

"What?" Alfred was almost shocked that this was being allowed. " _No one_ else is staying out here with him? You're not afraid the Koreans will drag him off and do something to him while we're gone?"

"They won't," Mr. Richardson insisted. "It'll be fine, Alfred."

"How do you know?"

"They have bigger things to worry about right now. They won't do something that would cause another international crisis while in the midst of trying to solve one."

Alfred remained defiantly silent, unsure whether he was willing to accept that answer.

"He'll be fine, Alfred. Just relax. We're about to start."

Unsatisfied, Alfred turned around to go back to North, only to find the Korean right behind him, not quite smiling but looking triumphant nonetheless. "Are you ready, American?"

"Alfred," the American huffed, sweeping past the Korean towards the room he presumed they'd be meeting in—but North reached out and snagged his coat before he could get more than a few steps.

"I told you—we're meeting separately," North scolded, tugging Alfred back towards him.

The American met his gaze with a pout. "Fine! Fine! Lead the way then."

Releasing his grip on the American's coat, he turned—towards the door—and motioned for Alfred to follow him.

Alfred looked at him in near horror. No way was he going outside! It was freezing! And what reason would they have to go outside? This building was huge. There was no way there wasn't 'room' for them somewhere in here.

He stumbled a few steps to catch up, just as the Korean opened the door, letting in a cold draft and causing Alfred to flinch. "Hey, wait! What are you doing? Why are we going outside?"

North glanced at the American over his shoulder. "Too cold for you?" he sneered, moving to hold the door wide open for Alfred. "Don't be a baby. Come on."

And of course, as soon as he put it that way, Alfred was grudgingly following along.

A few steps from the building, he asked again, "You didn't answer my question. Why are we going outside?"

"Because this is nation business," North responded after they were sufficiently out of earshot of the building. Suddenly it occurred to Alfred that that might be the sole reason they were outside—less chance of being overheard. "None of them need to know what we're talking about yet. I'm sure we'll be more productive on our own anyway."

" _You?"_ Alfred asked skeptically. " _You_  want to be productive? Or are you just saying that?"

"I want to be productive," North affirmed, leading Alfred towards an area where the sidewalk had not yet been cleared. Geez! Was he just trying to make Alfred miserable by leading him out in the cold and then to an area where they would have to tromp through snow and slush? Maybe he was actually serious about being productive and this was his way of making up for it—making things difficult for the American in another way instead. Alfred followed along in silence for what seemed like much too long, treading carefully to avoid getting his shoes full of water.

After a few blocks, North turned and began to walk out into the middle of the street—one of the super wide, super empty North Korean highways, still full of snow. Perplexed, Alfred spoke up. "Where are you taking us? Why are we crossing the street?"

North ignored the question, instead just looking back to give Alfred an annoyed look. With no other option, Alfred simply had to follow.

When they were about halfway across, North stopped. "Here. Now we can talk freely. No one will hear us out here."

So, Alfred had been right. The point of the trip  _had_ been to get them out of earshot. The highway was the perfect place to talk. It was at least as wide as a football field, about fifty yards of empty space on either side of the two nations. It was completely empty, not a single car or even a pedestrian. And there seemed to be little chance of it being cleared any time soon with no crews visible.

"So…what then?" Alfred asked again. "You want to talk about something, obviously. What is it? Did you think about what I said last night?"

"I did."

Alfred was honestly surprised. "…And?"

North spared a quick glance around them to confirm that they were still alone. "I was the one who asked for the Americans."

"Really?" Alfred was surprised. After all that thinking he'd done, he assumed North was just following orders and didn't care how any of this went. But there was still the question of why  _North_ would ask for the Americans. What was his motive? "Why?"

The Korean hesitated, instead tapping the American's arm and motioning for him to follow once more. This time, he headed straight down the middle of the highway.

"What  _now?"_ Alfred was growing frustrated with all this moving. "Answer my question!"

"Just come  _on!"_ North snapped, turning back around to glare at him. "I don't like…standing. Let's walk."

Alfred stomped forward a few steps to catch up with him. "Then tell me  _why_ you asked for me!"

Before Alfred had quite reached him, North whirled around, scowling at him fiercely. "Let us get something straight, first.  _I don't like you._ I didn't ask for  _you_ to come. I spoke with my leader and he agreed to request a group of Americans.  _You_ weren't in the plans."

A chill wind blew between them for a moment, lifting a few powdery flakes from the top layer of snow on the road and carrying them across the snowy expanse before them. Alfred stared back at North, surprised by the outburst.

North continued, "Frankly, I am surprised you even cared enough to come."

The sunlight faded as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. North turned back around and started to walk again. Alfred followed a moment later. He wasn't really surprised by the other's words so much as he was curious about them.

"Last night," Alfred began slowly, his voice softening as he followed along a few steps behind North. "You said I was here, and that was all that mattered. What did you mean by that if you didn't want me here anyway?"

North walked along in silence for a long time. For a moment, Alfred thought maybe he hadn't heard him over the slowly increasing wind, but finally, he responded. "When I saw you had been added to the delegation list, I thought there might be a chance that you cared what I have to say, and that was the reason you were coming."

"I  _do_  care what you have to say," Alfred replied, speeding up a little so that he could fall in step beside the other.

"Don't lie," the Korean glowered at him.

"I'm not!" Alfred promised, pulling his hands out of his pockets for a moment to hold them up in mock surrender. North gave a snort of amusement, like the whole idea that Alfred might _actually_ care was laughable to him. "Why would I lie about that?" Alfred asked.

"You just want me to cooperate for your benefit," North answered. The chill wind blew again, kicking up another gust of powdery snow from the covered street. "You know—so you can tell the world you saved the day from the evil communist nation. What a hero!" He rolled his eyes, disgusted by his own sarcasm. "Like you did with my brother. Like you tried to do with Vietnam."

"No," Alfred objected, offended. "I want you to cooperate for  _your_ benefit! I really do! I want to help you. I don't want you and South to go to war. I don't want anyone to go to war."

"Coming from you, that's almost insulting. I'd say you start a war in just about every country you try to 'help'."

Ouch. That one really did hit home. Latin American countries upset with his interference. Middle Eastern countries upset with his occupations.

And of course, Korea. A country that had been one, but was no longer.

He sped up a little and took a few steps out in front of North before turning around and stopping, placing a hand on the other's shoulder. The Korean stopped and looked at him questioningly, eyes still burning with fury.

"I really do want to help," he pleaded, giving North's shoulder a light squeeze. "Can't we try and be friends? Just for this week? Then you can go back to hating me if you want, I guess. But I really do want to help you." He searched the other's face for some sign of understanding, but the increasing wind was whipping his dark hair around his face, making it difficult to tell. "I want everyone to be happy. That includes you."

There was a pause, and for a moment, Alfred really did think North was going to listen. But it was a naïve thought—for just a moment later, the Korean shoved his hand off his shoulder with an angry jerk of his arm.

"If you really wanted to help," he hissed, "you would have followed through with your promises from years ago. You remember the Agreed Framework, don't you? Or have you forgotten already? 'Shut down your nuclear reactors and I'll help you out!' you said.  _Except you never did_."

"That's because you never shut them down!"

"I wasn't going to do  _anything_ until I was sure you weren't going to leave me wide open for invasion by South!"

"So you're just going to reject help now when it's offered to you?"

"If the past is any indication, I don't trust you to actually help."

The disappointment was apparent on Alfred's face. "So you've already made up your mind then. If you don't want to trust me, obviously you're never going to. And nothing will ever get better."

North's silence was indication enough—that was exactly the problem.

"Look, it's like I said last night," Alfred continued, watching the other for some sign that his words were getting through to him. "This is a two-way street. I can't just…do it all for you. You have to be willing to listen and compromise just the same as I do. If you're planning from the start to not listen and not budge at all, then nothing is going to get done. You're always gonna be sitting here on your side of the border all cold and lonely because everybody's gonna know that they can't get through to you. If you want me to hear what you have to say, then say it, and I'll try to understand and I'll try to help you. But only if  _you_ listen to what  _I_ have to say and try to understand my side of it too. Will you please just give me a chance?"

North dipped his gaze away, apparently unwilling to meet Alfred's eyes.

"Here, uh, how about this?" Alfred took the other's hand (which immediately brought the Korean's gaze up to meet Alfred's in surprise) and shook it eagerly. "Let's start over. Hey there, I'm Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, and I stand for the safety and happiness of all people everywhere." He released the other's hand. "Now it's your turn." He smiled encouragingly.

The Korean hesitated, though he no longer looked upset. Just very confused and maybe a little…wary? The uncertainty showed on his face, like he was trying to decide whether or not to give America his trust.

Finally, he reached for Alfred's hand again and shook it firmly, like he had when Alfred had arrived last night, only this time, it was much more deliberate, like he actually wanted to do it. " _Annyeonghaseyo_. My name is Im Sang Kyu. North Korea." It was short. Brief. But at least he sounded less hostile this time, like he meant it.

Just as Alfred was about to speak again, another strong gust of wind hit them, blowing with it the pins and needles of new snow, falling fresh from the sky. Alfred braced himself against the wind as another gust blew into them, whistling and biting against his ears, his hand still warmly grasping North's.

"Later," North's voice rose over the wind. "Let's go inside."

Reluctantly, Alfred let the other's fingers slip from his, and followed him towards shelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Agreed Framework refers to a series of agreements made between North Korea and the United States in late 1994, when the US became worried over North Korea's apparent intention to develop nuclear weapons. The Agreed Framework was signed in October of that year, saying that the DPRK would shut down its indigenous nuclear power plants in exchange for more nuclear proliferation resistant light water reactors and normalized relations with the West. The Korean Peninsula Energy Development Organization (KEDO) was put in place to help carry out the agreements, but failures by both sides to carry out their part of the agreement led to the collapse of the Agreed Framework by 2002, when the United States convinced KEDO to cease oil shipments to North Korea. KEDO officially terminated the project in 2006.


	9. Starting Over

By the time the two nations made their way back to the conference building, the delegates’ meeting was nearly over. Mr. Blitzer, who must have stayed in the lobby with Kang Dae the whole time, looked up at them curiously as they entered, the wind carrying in flakes of the now falling snow after them.

“What were you two doing outside?” Mr. Blitzer asked, directing the question at Alfred. “I never even saw you leave. I thought you were in the meeting room with the others.” 

Beside him, Kang Dae looked demandingly at North, as if he had his own questions to ask. Suddenly it occurred to Alfred that maybe Kang Dae wasn’t aware of his or North’s identities either—or if he was, he was all too aware that Mr. Blitzer _didn’t,_ and was intent to keep it that way.  
  
“We were—uh—scheduled to be in on the meeting but...” Alfred responded slowly after a pause. He could sense North tensing up beside him, as if the Korean didn’t trust the American to handle the conversation, but didn’t quite know what to say himself. They needed an excuse, quick! “…One of the other delegates left something very important back at the hotel and N—…Mr. Im—took it upon himself to escort me there to retrieve it for him.” He quickly patted one of his pockets as if he’d stored this supposed “something” in it. Yes, yes, this story seemed reasonable, he thought. And North was nodding beside him as if this was indeed the truth, so Alfred decided to roll with it. “And unfortunately, on the way back it started snowing really hard! So…we’re a bit late.”  
  
“Yes. My apologies,” North said, giving a quick bow towards Kang Dae. “Some of the streets still have not been cleared.”  
  
“Unfortunate,” Kang Dae huffed, narrowing his eyes at the two nations. “Well, hurry up. I hope nothing has been _too_ delayed by your absence.”  
  
“ _Kamsahabnida_ ,” North muttered quickly before taking Alfred by the sleeve and pulling him towards the conference room. He opened the door slowly and stepped in quietly so as to cause as little disturbance to the meeting as possible. Alfred followed behind, wondering how much of the meeting was even left for them to disturb.  
  
A few heads looked up as they took their seats, but ultimately, the delegates went back to their discussion without skipping a beat. Alfred looked across the table to North, who now seemed to be trying to make as little eye contact with him as possible. Maybe North could only handle so much social interaction in one day.  
  
The Korean who appeared to be in charge—if the way his comrades nodded in agreement at his every word was any indication—said something, and after a pause, a translator relayed it to the American delegation. “He says, ‘We can do nothing as long as the US shows no interest in dialogue.”  
  
Mr. Richardson, who seemed to have taken the leadership role on the American side of the table, answered. “Of course you can’t, and I understand that,” he said, directing his words at the head Korean, but glancing at the translator every now and then as if to make sure she was hearing his words correctly. “But I’m going to be honest with you—the US isn’t going to show any interest until they get the impression that you and your comrades want to talk productively. They’re very concerned about the incident regarding Yeonpyeong. They feel – they don’t feel that…” The governor paused, searching for the right words. “They feel that engaging in dialogue solely as a result of that incident would not be productive.”  
  
Of course, Alfred thought, Mr. Richardson couldn’t say what the politicians back in the US had been saying regarding the Yeonpyeong shelling—that giving the North Koreans dialogue after what was essentially an act of terrorism would be like rewarding them for bad behavior. How was he supposed to say that without offending the North Koreans?  
  
The translator hesitated for a moment—most likely trying to figure out what to do with those last few remarks—before turning to her delegation and warbling out a few sentences in Korean. The head Korean made a face, then turned to his comrades for a conversation that eventually dragged on for several minutes.  
  
The American delegation exchanged a few looks, mostly in Mr. Namkung’s direction (since he did speak Korean and was probably listening after all), but remained, for the most part, silent. Alfred glanced across the table to North once more. The Korean seemed to be mostly listening to his comrades’ conversation without saying much. Alfred wondered if he was officially allowed to have a say at all.  
  
After a few more minutes, the head Korean turned back to the translator and said something, which the translator parroted back as, “‘The DPRK will talk productively if the US will talk productively.”  
  
Mr. Richardson nodded. “But you’re still going to need to prove that you’re serious. I’m telling you—no matter what happens in the next few days, you have to show restraint.”  
  
The translator relayed this back to her comrades, waited for their answer, and a moment later said back to the American delegation, “If the South Korean or US militaries show signs of aggression, we will respond accordingly.”  
  
A few seats down, Mr. Nankung sighed. “They’re going to keep giving you their standard pitch, Bill. They’re concerned about looking weak for not retaliating.” Mr. Nankung, who must have been listening as the Koreans debated amongst themselves, seemed discouraged.  
  
If Mr. Richardson was frustrated though, he didn’t show it. He looked across the table at the head Korean and directed his words right at him. “I have to strongly urge you, as someone who wants to see the best come of you and your people, not to retaliate to these drills. They are just that—drills.”  
  
The translator spoke quickly to her comrades, and then a moment later: “‘The DPRK regards such ‘drills’ as an act of aggression.’”  
  
Alfred was itching to say something. Technically, he wasn’t really supposed to. Typically these sorts of meetings were between government officials only, and nations themselves were not supposed to have sway over foreign officials. But something was really bothering him. Perhaps it was true that the drills were meant as a show of force, but weren’t they only being planned in the first place because North Korea had done something first? Hadn’t the North Koreans shelled Yeonpyeong? How could they say the drills were aggression when the Americans were clearly only here because of something North Korea did?  
  
But before he could even open his mouth to say something, the head Korean turned to the translator, and a moment later the translator said, “Mr. Ri thinks it would be in both parties’ best interest to continue this meeting at another time. For now, he would like to invite the American delegates to a lunch banquet.”  
  
Alfred, who suddenly realized how far forward he’d been leaning in his seat in anticipation, relaxed against the back of the chair, letting out an annoyed puff of air. Maybe Mr. Ri on the other side had glanced over and gotten the sense that Alfred was about to interfere and decided it was time to end the meeting for the day. Or, perhaps, he’d realized his own hypocrisy and didn’t want to leave anyone the chance to point it out. Alfred cast a quick glance at North, wondering if he had anything to do with it, only to find him studying a piece of paper in front of him innocently.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t even notice the time,” Mr. Richardson said with a laugh, nudging up his sleeve to peek at his watch. “That would be wonderful,” he said, directing his words towards the translator. “Tell Mr. Ri that we accept.”  
  
A moment later, Mr. Blitzer was allowed to rejoin them, and the Americans were led down to a large banquet hall, which, despite having some 20 or so tables set, was entirely empty. Some polite women in colorful traditional wear guided them to their sits, which, Alfred soon discovered, were completely separate from where the Koreans would be sitting.  
  
The American delegation spread out around a circular table already set with silverware and the multiple Korean side dishes called _banchan_ that would accompany the main course. Carefully arranged in little bowls, the side dishes made quite a colorful display, each one a different color or shade.  
  
Alfred couldn’t help noticing the way the women who had led them in stared, fixated, as some young men in white brought out the main dishes. Judging by the way the women were looking, it was obvious they didn’t get to eat like this every day. How high up did you have to be to eat like this, Alfred wondered? It was no secret that the North Koreans had trouble feeding their people. Was this kind of meal a huge treat, even for the North Korean delegates? What about the cooks and the translator (who had mysteriously disappeared) and the nice ladies in the colorful dresses? Was food short even in the great city of Pyongyang? Did these people linger after banquets to see if there were leftovers? Did they harbor scornful thoughts of rich foreigners, who got to dine in relative luxury right in front of them?  
  
Alfred found himself staring blankly at the food on his plate. The food, which looked like some kind of fish, had to be way better than what the average people here ate day to day. Suddenly, he found himself lacking in appetite. Maybe if he didn’t eat anything, someone less well-fed would have a nice meal today…  
  
After lunch, the handlers Kang Dae and Ki Young took the American delegation sightseeing. Alfred couldn’t help but feel that it was a poor way to spend their time here. Weren’t they here to help defuse tensions? Shouldn’t they be resuming their meeting instead? When Alfred expressed this to Mr. Richardson, the governor simply shrugged. “Humor them,” he said. “They want to show us their country. If we seem too forceful about meetings, they may not listen. Just go along with it.”  
  
Somewhere between the banquet hall and their first stop, Kim Il Sung University, North disappeared. Convenient, Alfred thought. But maybe it was for the best. After the banquet, he wasn’t sure he could even speak to the Korean without questioning him about Mr. Ri’s evasiveness or the looks on the faces of the women in the banquet hall. So much for starting over on a good note.  
  
Kim Il Sung University was…impressive, in terms of scale, but disturbing on a multitude of levels.  
  
The first thing Alfred noticed was how empty the giant halls were. At first he managed to convince himself that the students were just in class. But after passing several dark, empty rooms, he abandoned that idea. In the rooms where class did appear to be in session, students sat in front of computers but, curiously, never typed, never scrolled, never even touched the mouse. Only a few rooms appeared to have lectures going on. The rest of the rooms were occupied by students staring silently at whatever papers were on their desks or empty altogether. After a while, Alfred grew tired of trying to figure out how much of what he saw was real and how much was staged, and wished only to move on to the next attraction.  
  
That attraction turned out to be the Juche Tower, a towering granite spire which, the Koreans bragged, was taller than the Washington Monument. After a short moment to enjoy the view from atop the tower, the delegation was quickly ushered on to the next sight.  
  
Not far from the Juche Tower was the North Korean version of the Arc de Triomphe, almost identical to the one in Paris, except for that it was apparently 11 meters taller, a point which the Koreans were very eager to make at every opportunity. If someone asked a question, it would be answered hastily, and then the arc's height would be quickly pointed out again. If the conversation strayed too far from the guides' comfort zones, they would quickly change the subject. For Alfred this grew tiresome very quickly. He was on the verge of taking back his thought from before: maybe it would be better to have North here to talk to. Maybe then, at least, he could say something—anything—to someone without having one of the guides point out for the fiftieth time how tall something was.  
  
By the time it was all over, it seemed like Alfred had seen everything in downtown Pyongyang. Were they going to do this every day? Surely the Koreans would run out of things to show them. It was only the end of his first full day here, and already Alfred was beginning to doubt the prospects for the future.  
  
When he returned to his room at the hotel, he wondered briefly if his stuff had been gone through while he was gone. It wasn't like he had anything to hide—he was sure by now every North Korean in the hotel had been told who he was—but everything was coming as a big slap in the face anyway. It was well known that the situation in North Korea was bad. It was no secret that they had trouble feeding their people or that they strictly controlled the flow of information. But it never really hit him until he got here—until he could see the looks on the faces of the women in the banquet hall, notice the guides changing the subject suddenly, feel the bones of North's hand when he shook it—that it all started to become real. This was reality. These things actually were happening. It wasn’t just something that was shown on TV to make a political statement about democracy. Suddenly, he was almost positive someone had snooped around while he was gone.  
  
The next morning followed a routine similar to the first. Breakfast downstairs, bright and early, before the delegation left for another morning meeting; this time with the North Koreans' top nuclear negotiator, Kim Kye Gwan. Previously, Kim had been a leading figure in the Six Party Talks—talks that had since stalled—between the two Koreas, China, Russia, Japan, and the US. Alfred wondered if maybe his absence from the action would leave Mr. Kim a little more open to negotiating than Mr. Ri.  
  
North was waiting for them outside the Foreign Ministry when they got there, huddling into his coat and bracing himself against the cold wind. He seemed more than happy to lead them inside and led them personally to the meeting room. This time, the room was deeper within the building and smaller, a sign that maybe they'd have a little more one-on-one with Mr. Kim. All the while, North seemed to be the only Korean around. It didn't appear that he had any plans to drag Alfred away for any private nation conversations today. Maybe the situation had grown more dire overnight and unnecessary personnel had been diverted from guiding the American delegation to go do their regular jobs instead. Even one of their handlers seemed to be missing. Kang Dae had led them to the Foreign Ministry alone.  
  
When Mr. Kim arrived, there was a great flurry of welcomes and terse bows and handshakes. Even Mr. Blitzer had the opportunity to exchange a quick hello with Mr. Kim before he and his camera were ushered out once more by Kang Dae. Mr. Kim was accompanied by his translator and considerably fewer delegates than Mr. Ri had the day before. Everyone took their seats, and the meeting began.  
  
Things progressed similarly to the last meeting. Dialogue or war. Ready for either, the North Koreans said. Show restraint. Don’t respond militarily, the Americans would say. It was beginning to look like a carbon copy of the day before, and Alfred was getting bored quickly. He wanted to say something. Of all the people in the room, North would be the most understanding, he thought. Surely North shared his dismay at having to sit in on a meeting but not being able to share a single opinion. And despite the tone of the meeting, the two of them _had_ had a conversation about starting over. Maybe, of all the people on the Korean side, he’d be the most open to something different—the most open to changing the tone. If he could _just_ get North to somehow express interest in one of the Americans’ ideas, or advise his comrades to be open-minded, or _something._  
  
Finally, to his great relief, the conversation began to shift from its repetitive course. Maybe it was a change of strategy Mr. Richardson had discussed with his advisors the night before, because he began suggesting his own ideas to the North Koreans.  
  
“Look, you’ve got to make concessions somewhere,” he said. “Or nothing’s ever going to move forward.”  
  
Among the things he suggested were allowing nuclear inspectors back into the country (Alfred could tell North did not like this idea at all. When he looked over at him, the Korean was making no effort to hide his eye-rolling), selling their fuel rods to South Korea, and establishing an emergency hotline between the two countries. The last two seemed to be topics of intrigue to the Koreans, as suddenly, they began asking questions. Would the South really buy nuclear fuel rods? How many? For how much? Would they use them to make their own weapons? How would the hotline work? Who could access it? Would the Americans be eavesdropping on their calls? After at least an hour of fairly intense conversation over these topics, Alfred was feeling a bit more hopeful. It seemed they’d just made a breakthrough.  
  
But then: “We’ll consider these options.”  
  
It wasn’t the perfect ending he’d been hoping for, but what more could he expect? It was becoming more and more clear that information in North Korea only flowed up. Even high ranking officials like Mr. Kim probably couldn’t agree to anything officially without final word from the Dear Leader.  
  
After a quick lunch (which again, Alfred only picked at), the American delegation was taken sightseeing, led this time by Kang Dae and North himself. Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what had become of Ki Young. Had he been transferred somewhere else? Was he doing a lousy job of guiding the Americans and had simply been removed? Alfred felt the latter would be especially unfair, considering Ki Young had only been leading them for a day and a half.  
  
The first stop was the Grand People’s Study House—or the national library, in non-nationalistic terms. Like Kim Il Sung University, it was huge and curiously empty. The entrance had a huge statue of Kim Il Sung sitting on what almost seemed to be a throne. It was like the Lincoln Memorial in a way, but much creepier and communistic. The halls were wide and well-swept, every tile in pristine condition.  
  
About halfway through the tour, Alfred saw North suddenly break from the group and duck into a side room, pulling what—appeared to be a phone—from his pocket. Well, the high officials of North Korea had to communicate with each other somehow, he guessed. It was just strange to see someone in North Korea actually using a cell phone. It wasn’t unheard of—just strange. But, it gave him an idea. If North and South Korea could have a hotline, why not North Korea and America?  
  
When North returned to the group, Alfred waited several minutes before nudging North to fall behind the group and dropping the question. “Hey, North... Do you have a phone?”  
  
The Korean just gave him annoyed look. “I’m not letting you use it.”  
  
“No no no!” Alfred said hurriedly, smiling, but trying to keep his voice down. “I don’t wanna use it. I was just asking if you had one.” Hopefully, North hadn’t noticed Alfred watching him as he snuck off to take a call.  
  
North eyed Alfred suspiciously, as if trying to figure out where he was going with this conversation. He answered slowly. “Yes... I have one. Do you think I am that behind technologically?”  
  
“No!” Alfred replied as innocently as he could. “I trust you know your stuff. You have an international network and everything?”  
  
“I have a card that gives me access to one, yes,” North answered quickly. “Why are you asking? What do you want? Are you planning to try and steal my phone and call someone or something? What are you—”  
  
“Gosh, calm down!” Alfred said, holding a finger to his lips, a gesture to try and get the Korean to quiet down. “Man, you’re dense! I’m asking for your phone number!”  
  
“You’re...”  
  
“Yeah! You know!” Okay, well, maybe North didn’t know. Cell phones, even if they were becoming more common, were not the norm in North Korea. North probably only exchanged numbers with high officials and emergency contacts. Having an American ask him for his contact information (in the fashion that a guy might ask a girl for hers, no less) had to be totally out of his comfort zone.  
  
“I mean, it’d be kinda like you and South having a hotline, right?” Alfred continued, trying to explain his line of thinking. “You guys seemed pretty interested in that, right? And you’re always complaining that the guys in Washington won’t talk to you, so maybe we could have our own hotline! Just you and me. Nation to nation. Like, you can call me if you wanna talk about something, and I can try and do something about it if Washington’s not listening.”  
  
“No,” North said tersely, picking up his pace to try and rejoin the group. “That’s a terrible idea.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t need you calling me! And I don’t need to call you!”  
  
“Why not?” Alfred reached out to the take the other’s arm and pull him back, a move that had the Korean whirling back to face him almost immediately. Alfred let go a second later, realizing he’d breached the Korean’s personal space. “We said we’d start over, right? Remember? We shook hands and reintroduced ourselves and everything! And you said you’d be productive. So let’s start being productive. All right? I’ll stop making childish jokes at you and you...stop acting so hostile. It’s all good.”  
  
North considered this for a moment before, to Alfred’s delight, he grumbled and stopped to pull out a pen and a piece of paper, which he hastily scribbled his number on before shoving it back at Alfred. “If you call me without good reason, I’ll—”  
  
“Hey! Productive, remember? No more threats!” Realizing North might like to call Alfred sometime, Alfred tore off an unused section of the paper North had given him and jotted down his own number before handing it back to him. “There. Now you have mine.”  
  
North nodded and stuck the paper in his pocket, then went back to walking, but Alfred wasn’t quite ready to drop a rare conversation with the Korean so quickly. “So...does South have your number?”  
  
“Of course not,” North snorted.  
  
“China?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Russia?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
A thoughtful pause.  
  
“Iran?”  
  
“Not your business.”  
  
Alfred chuckled. “So is that a yes?”  
  
“It’s not your business is what it is. I thought you were going to stop with your _childish_ jokes.”  
  
"That wasn't a joke!" Alfred protested. "It was a serious question!"  
  
The Korean shook his head and proceeded to ignore the American. Alfred frowned, but after a few moments of silence:  
  
"Do you and Iran gossip about me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you guys have a super-secret nuclear club you go to?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Do you liiike her?"  
  
" _No!_ "  
  
Alfred snickered and held his finger to his lips again, shushing the other quietly. "See, _that_ was a childish joke. But I'll stop now, okay?"  
  
North scowled and strode ahead to rejoin the group. “This is why I don’t deal with you,” he said.  
  
Later that afternoon, they spent some time in a foreign language high school in Pyongyang, where North Korean high school students tested their language skills. Alfred was quite impressed with the students’ English; some of them spoke with almost no accent. North seemed rather proud of this fact and smiled at Alfred smugly.  
  
When the tour was over, the American delegation was driven back to the hotel. Though there was still an hour or two of sunlight left, a chill wind was blowing in from the north causing the delegation to shiver and shudder every step to the van. Kang Dae, too, deemed it too cold to do anything else but return to the hotel.  
  
“Too cold,” he grumbled. “There are things to do at the hotel anyway. Go to the karaoke bar and relax.”  
  
Mr. Namkung, however, would have none of that. When the group arrived back at the hotel, he immediately pulled everyone aside into one of the hotel’s meeting rooms. Kang Dae and North were still trailing them at this point, but Mr. Namkung didn’t bother telling them to leave. Every room in the hotel was probably bugged anyway, so it didn’t matter if they overheard.  
  
“Look,” he said. “Even though the Koreans seemed to be open to our suggestions in the meeting today, I still think this situation could become very dangerous, very quickly. As far as we know, South Korea is still planning to go forward with their live fire drills. What happens if we go to war? What’s the first thing the North Koreans are going to do?”  
  
“Close the borders,” Mr. Blitzer said.  
  
“Right,” Mr. Namkung affirmed. “Whatever flights they have going out of Pyongyang, they’ll cancel them. They won’t want to mess with them. Flying out foreigners would be the least of their problems.”  
  
“And we’ll be stuck,” Mr. Blitzer realized. “What should we do?”  
  
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Mr. Namkung said. “I think we need to start looking for an alternate way out of this country. Find someone who could drive us to the border with China, maybe. Or see if there’s a way we can rent an SUV.”  
  
Alfred glanced back at North and Kang Dae, both of whom suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Alfred didn’t think Kang Dae would be able to do anything without approval from a superior, and he was fairly sure the Korean wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. Maybe North would have, but if war broke out, North was sure to be one of the least available people around.  
  
Ms. Dillingham followed Alfred’s gaze and caught Kang Dae’s attention. “Would you be able to help up arrange for some emergency transportation?” she asked.  
  
“I can’t do anything,” Kang Dae said, shaking his head. “Not authorized.”  
  
All eyes turned to North, who seemed to shrink away uncomfortably. “Travel permits are hard to get,” he said. “To get all the way to the border with China, someone with a lot of clearance will have to take you.”  
  
“What about the border with South Korea?” Mr. Richardson asked. “It’s not as far. Surely someone has the clearance to get to the DMZ.”  
  
“Maybe,” Kang Dae admitted. “But to cross? Arranging that may be more difficult than just trying to get you to China.”  
  
“Would it be possible for you to check, at least?” Mr. Richardson asked. “Just see if someone might be available to help us, even if you can’t yourself.”  
  
“I can see.”  
  
Mr. Richardson shot him a friendly smile. “Thank you.”  
  
Mr. Namkung and Mr. Richardson spent a while longer discussing their options, but the rest of the group dispersed. Alfred caught a glimpse of North trying to slip away and quickly followed, eventually catching up to him in the hotel lobby.  
  
“You’ve got to have more clearance than anybody,” Alfred said, stepping between the Korean and the door. North scowled, trying a few times to step around the American, who continued to block his way.  
  
“As far as _they_ are concerned,” North said, referring to the American delegation. “I don’t.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” Alfred said, stepping into North’s path once more. “Maybe you can’t take us personally, but you’ve got to have a lot of _government_ clearance too, right? I bet you can give someone else permission to take us.”  
  
“No,” North said flatly, finally standing in place and glaring up at the American, as if giving him dirty looks might somehow be more effective in getting him to move.  
  
“No, you can’t? Or no, you won’t?”  
  
“No, I can’t, _and_ I wouldn’t anyway.”  
  
And at this, Alfred was genuinely offended. Was he the only one putting any effort into this starting over thing? North was about as uncooperative and unhelpful as a rock. “Why not?” Alfred demanded, leaning in a little closer, trying to use his height to intimidate the Korean, though North never seemed to be intimidated by much of anything the American did.  
  
“I’m not in charge of that—”  
  
“You’re North fucking Korea!”  
  
“Keep it down!” North snapped, glancing about the lobby. “All travel has to be approved. I’m not in charge of approving it. Even if I was, I wouldn’t clear you to leave the country early. You came here to make a peacekeeping effort. Not run away.”  
  
“We’re not leaving early!” Alfred insisted, growing frustrated. “In the _event_ of a war, would you, or would you not be able to help us find a way out?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“That’s not a helpful answer. I thought you were going to be cooperative from now on.”  
  
“Cooperating is not the same as bending to your every whim, American.”  
  
“This is a request! That’s all!” Alfred didn’t want to have to resort to pleading with North, but he had a responsibility to his people, and he wasn’t about to let them be caught in the middle of a war if he could help it. He crossed his arms, irritated. “Can you _please_ just check? You’ve got to have more power to do things within the government than Kang Dae does. I _know_ you do.”  
  
“I can check,” North shrugged, “but I can make no advance arrangements.”  
  
Well, that was better than nothing.

“Just try,” Alfred sighed, finally stepping aside so that North could pass. But before North could get too far, Alfred reached out and stopped him again, catching him by the back of his coat. “Wait. One more thing.”

“What?” North demanded, nudging at the American’s hand.

“I just want to remind you that we started over, okay?” Alfred said, drawing his hand away, but keeping his gaze fixed on North. “Remember what I said before: I don’t want anything bad to happen for anybody, and that includes you. Yong Soo’s a great friend of mine, and I want to see you and him live happily alongside each other one day. I know we’re not really allowed to say stuff at the meetings, but I think you guys should seriously consider some of Mr. Richardson’s proposals. Even that hotline would help.”

He paused, looking for some sign of agreement in North’s dark eyes, but the Korean was as silent and hard to read as ever. “Okay?”

North was silent for a long moment. “We’ll see,” was all he said. Alfred let out another sigh.

“Will I see you in the morning?”

North nodded.

“Yes. I will be with you the rest of the time you are here—until the South Koreans start their drills, at least.”

“And what then?”

North averted his gaze, seemingly uncomfortable again. Alfred’s heart dropped. This wasn’t a good sign at all. More than likely, if South Korea started their drills, North would be called to the DMZ. If the Koreas went to war, Alfred might not see him again, at least for a long time.

The Korean just shook his head, turned and headed for the door. “We’ll see.”


	10. Transport

Mr. Richardson briefed the group quickly as they gathered for breakfast in the hotel lobby. Today they would be meeting with Major General Pak Rim Su, the commander of the North Korean forces on the DMZ. If something happened in the next few days that drove the Koreas to war, he would be the man leading the North Koreans into battle. Today’s meeting was crucial. This man, if given the command, could literally start a war at any time. Getting through to him was essential, and the gravity of this fact seemed to be weighing on the minds of the entire group. Breakfast was eaten in near silence, and then the group departed.

North once again waited for them outside the Foreign Ministry, today lacking his dark coat in favor of an olive green military uniform for the occasion. Alfred had to wonder how long he’d been waiting out there. Though no more snow had fallen, it was still dreadfully cold, and the chill wind blowing from the north only made it worse.

Alfred smiled when he approached the Korean, hoping it would set a good tone for the meeting ahead.

“Good morning,” he said brightly, trying to keep his uneasiness out of his voice. “Are you ready?”

“Why would I not be ready?” North asked, frowning. Alfred kept smiling, despite feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Was North bitter over their conversation about emergency transportation the day before? If he was, Alfred could only hope it wouldn’t affect the meeting in any way.

North glanced over the rest of the group before his eyes settled on Mr. Blitzer. “You’ll have to wait outside,” he said, directing his words toward the man and his camera. “Kang Dae will be here shortly. You’re free to explore the Patong River area as long as he’s with you.”

Mr. Blitzer moved his hand with the camera behind his back, as if he were ashamed. “Of course!” He was silent for a moment. “Will Kang Dae be able to take me anywhere indoors? It’s awfully cold today.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to do so if you ask him nicely,” North said with a grim smile. From what Alfred had seen of Kang Dae throughout their trip, he thought the Korean guide would probably rather watch Mr. Blitzer squirm from the cold than find a warm place indoors.

As they were talking, a white car pulled up. Speak of the devil.

“There’s Kang Dae now,” North nodded towards the car as Kang Dae stepped out, accompanied by Ki Young. North excused himself for a moment to exchange a few words with Kang Dae before returning to the group and leading them inside for the meeting.

When the American delegation took their seats in the meeting room, the other side of the table was empty. A few minutes later, Major General Pak Rim Su and several other military officials filed in, neatly lining up their hats on a table behind them before they all stepped forward to exchange greetings with Mr. Richardson and his advisors. The General seemed to take warmly to Mr. Richardson in particular. That was a good sign, Alfred thought. This meeting would be a breeze!

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

Despite the warm greetings, the meeting took a track similar to that of the day before almost immediately.

“If the South Koreans go ahead with their drills, the North will retaliate,” the General said through the translator. Alfred was actually surprised. The General was so _forward_ about it. It was almost the first thing he said, and it didn’t leave much room to negotiate. How was any sort of peace supposed to be achieved when the North’s top military man had that sort of attitude?

Mr. Richardson was trying to dissuade the General from that route. “I need you to be statesmen,” he said, addressing the North Korean delegation as a whole. “Don’t retaliate. We need to build some trust here.”

“We will not allow the South to go on with such provocations unchecked,” one of the other North Korean officials said through the translator. “We need the world to know that we are not the provokers. We will respond if this goes on.”

_How does responding let the world know that you are not the provokers?_ Alfred wondered to himself. He guessed that maybe from the North Koreans’ point of view, it was a cause-and-effect case where the South was the cause and the North was the effect, but to the rest of the world, the North was the cause because of what they’d supposedly done to the Cheonan, and South Korea’s drills were the effect. The North Koreans were out-voted.

After some more urging the North Koreans to hold back (What more could he do really? There was no real way to guarantee that fighting wouldn’t break out.), Mr. Richardson switched tactics. If the North Koreans couldn’t be dissuaded, the Americans could at least offer something to try and make a bad situation marginally better. The proposed hotline between North and South that had been discussed in yesterday’s meeting was brought up once again, with similar results. While the North Koreans seemed interested, they didn’t ultimately accept the offer. Alfred thought they probably couldn’t. After all, it seemed like the Dear Leader had the final call on just about everything here. Unless they were going to get a meeting with him during their time here, they probably weren’t going to get a straight answer.

“I will study these,” was all the General had to say on Mr. Richardson’s proposals. Disappointing, but better than an outright ‘no.’

A few minutes later, the meeting dissolved. Mr. Richardson was visibly disappointed. This had been their big chance, but tensions didn’t seem any closer to being eased. Alfred was suddenly very eager to ask North if he’d been able to arrange for any sort of transportation out of the country. If nothing else, Alfred wanted to make sure the rest of the American delegation got to safety.

The group stepped out into the lobby to find Mr. Blitzer and the two guides waiting for them. A few minutes later, North rejoined them, and the group was once again whisked away for lunch at one of Pyongyang’s restaurants.

Upon stepping inside, Alfred was not only surprised to see other people eating (everything about Pyongyang seemed to be showcase after all, so why not the restaurants?), but to see non-Asian people there as well. Could it be that this was just a popular place for tour guides to take their groups?

The group was led to a cluster of tables against the wall. Kang Dae and the drivers sat together, and North seemed to be ready to join them, but Alfred caught his arm before he could sit. “We need to talk.”

“I couldn’t control what happened at that meeting,” North said flatly, already moving to defend himself.

“I know,” Alfred said, pulling the other to sit with him farther down the table. “But we’re gonna talk anyway.”

After a few minutes of looking at the menu and waiting for the waitress to finish taking their orders, Alfred got down to business. Not wanting the others to hear, he leaned in towards North, his voice low. “Were you able to arrange any transportation?”

The question was met with North’s usual frown. “I said I would _check._ I didn’t say I was arranging any.”

“Well, did you _check?”_ Alfred insisted. “You’ve gotta work with me here.”

“I checked,” North said. Alfred waited. North didn’t go on.

“…And?” Alfred prompted after a pause. It was like North was still going out of his way to make things difficult!

“I can arrange for four of you to leave,” North answered, keeping his voice low.

Alfred’s heart dropped.

“Just four?”  he asked in disbelief. He was sure North would be able to do better than that if he was able to do anything! “Why just four?”

“The only vehicle I can get for you can hold four people plus a driver,” North replied pausing as the waitress brought them their drinks. When she was gone, he continued. “And I still haven’t been able to arrange for you to actually cross.”

“Why not?” Alfred pressed.

North let out an annoyed puff of air. “Well, you only asked me last night, for one. Be patient.”

“Well…” Alfred didn’t want to push the Korean too much. He had a feeling that if he started to get on North’s nerves, the Korean might stop trying altogether. And yet, this needed to get done. “When do you think you’ll know?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” North answered flatly. “Maybe.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

North huffed. “Do you want to arrange it yourself? Good luck.”

“No—look, I’m sorry I’m bothering you so much about it, okay,” Alfred sighed. “I just want to make sure they get to safety even if I can’t. Are you sure you can only manage four?”

“Unless I can find someone with enough clearance and a bigger vehicle, yes.”

“Could you maybe…check a second time?” Alfred tried to smile. This was so hard. He felt like he was practically begging—North Korea of all people. Being completely at the other’s mercy in a situation like this wasn’t fun at all. North must be enjoying it, he thought.

“After I make sure you can cross in the first place…maybe,” North said again, being unhelpful as ever. “You could always make two trips.”

“Is that two trips to the DMZ or two trips to freaking China?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Alfred let out another sigh. “Well, thanks, I guess,” he mumbled.

After that, the two of them sat in silence until the waitress returned with their food. Alfred had to wonder about his order. Despite having a rudimentary knowledge of Korean, he still ordered based on the pictures when he went to restaurants with Yong Soo. The situation had been the same today. When the food arrived, what he’d ordered turned out to be a stew of mostly vegetables with the occasional piece of tofu. The waitress finished laying out the side dishes, asked them if they needed anything else, then left.

Alfred glanced at what North had ordered and noted that it didn’t look quite like anything he’d ever seen Yong Soo get when they went out. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward to get a better look. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen at restaurants with Yong Soo.”

“It’s called _onban_ ,” North replied, taking his chopsticks and beginning to stir what looked like another kind of stew. “It has rice, noodles, mushrooms, bean pancake, egg, and chicken in it. You haven’t seen South eat it before because it is a North Korean creation he would have been too stupid to mastermind.”

Alfred frowned at the slight against Yong Soo, but held his tongue. North might actually be making an effort to have a conversation with him here.

The Korean glanced at what Alfred had ordered. “Yours is called _doenjang jjigae_. Made with bean paste, vegetables, and tofu.”

Alfred scooped up a spoonful of broth and vegetables, blowing on it softly to cool it before taking a sip. He mulled over the taste for a moment before deciding he liked it.

“It’s good. Is this one a North Korea exclusive?”

“No. It’s eaten all over Korea.”

“Are there any more North Korea dishes I should know about?” If anything, Alfred figured getting North to talk about something he was proud of was a way to get on his good side.

And just as he thought, North seemed to jump to the opportunity, his eyes lighting up as he sat a little straighter. “There’s Pyongyang cold noodles, Pyongyang dumplings, _nakji samgyeopsal bokum—”_

“Whoa, slow down, you lost me at that last one,” Alfred broke in. “Tell me about that one…”

* * *

 

With the meal finished and North seemingly in a much better mood, the group set out again for the state-sanctioned afternoon of sightseeing.

Once again, the minivans were the only cars on the road. The landscape seemed chill and brittle, the fields and mountainsides turned gray and white by the winter. The sky was clear and crisp and the few clouds floating by seemed like frozen feathers in the icy air. Except for each other, they were alone.

Their first stop was an apple orchard. Had it been summer, Alfred was sure the trees would have been a very impressive sight, with sprawling green branches and the beginnings of fruit that would grow into apples. But as far as the eye could see, the trees stood gray and bare in the winter air. Today, with the snow hanging on the trees’ brittle branches, the whole thing just seemed kind of sad.

The group was told a brief history of the orchard. The first trees had been planted years ago in more prosperous times and had been providing food for the people and the military ever since. Alfred had to wonder how much of it actually went to the people, but he didn’t ask, sure the guides would dodge the question anyway.

There wasn’t much to see of the orchard itself, so the group was led farther down the road to a lonely little cottage.

North stepped forward to knock on the door himself. After a moment of waiting, an elderly woman opened the door a crack. She looked North over for a moment before a smile spread across her face, and she pulled him forward into a hug, babbling excitedly in Korean. Alfred held back a chuckle, amused by the embarrassed expression that had painted itself across North’s face.

They were invited inside, and the delegation graciously stepped into the comfortable heat of the cottage. The cottage was inhabited by the elderly woman and her family, which included her children and grandchildren. The sprawling orchard nearby had once been inspected by the Dear Leader, who had stopped by to visit the cottage as well. Spotless portraits of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il hung on the wall in the living room, testament to the home’s history.

While Mr. Blitzer and the other members of the delegation asked the old woman about her home and life, a little boy toddled out of one of the other rooms and waved cutely, chirping, “Annyeong! Annyeong!” at each person he passed.

“Annyeong!” Ms. Dillingham cooed, waving back at the boy. She turned to Ki Young, pulling something from her coat pocket. “Can I take a picture?”

Ki Young, who had seemed to be the stricter of the guides about pictures in the past, simply made a gesture inviting her to go ahead.

After a few pictures, the boy became interested in the camera and pointed at it. After a quick lesson from Ms. Dillingham, he was running around the room, taking pictures of his grandmother and the American delegates.

While everyone else was distracted, Alfred turned to North. “So, is that lady like your grandma or something?” he teased, throwing his arm around the Korean and smiling widely as the grandson toddled up to them for a picture.

North refrained from pushing the American off only until the boy had passed so as not to cause a scene, but as soon as he was gone, he pushed Alfred off.

“Of course not,” North huffed, straightening out his uniform peevishly. “I was with Mr. Kim when he visited this house. She recognized me. That’s all.”

“What did she say to you? She looked awfully happy.”

“Oh. She was just going on about how I hadn’t changed.”

“…How long ago was this?”

North paused for a moment. “Maybe ten years?”

“Does she know who you are?”

“Yes. She was told.”

“And everyone’s okay with that?”

“This house is isolated enough. They won’t tell.”

“Hm,” Alfred hummed, a little unsure of what to make of the situation. The cottage was basic, but more than what the majority of North Koreans got, he imagined. This family was probably well-off due to the fact that a simple visit from their leader had made their house almost sacred. As long as they didn’t upset the state, they would probably be well-off for a long time. Really, they had no reason to tell anyone North’s true identity. Still, it didn’t seem fair. Most of the country didn’t get to live like this.

After saying their goodbyes, the American delegation was ushered out and back to the minivans. From there, they were driven back to the hotel for some free time.

“You’re free to do anything you want on the hotel grounds,” Kang Dae told them before they could step out of the van. “Meet in the banquet hall at 6:00. You’ll be having dinner with the Vice Foreign Minister.”

Kang Dae paused, shooting a pointed look at Mr. Blitzer, who was seated next to Alfred, his camera cradled in his lap. “Off the record,” Kang Dae added before dismissing them.

Alfred stepped out of the van and snagged North by the arm as soon as he saw him. “Hey. Will you be around later?”

“Yes. I’ll be here at dinner.”

“What about right now?”

“…I have some things to do.”

“Is one of those things…checking up on our transportation situation by any chance?”

North frowned, seemingly annoyed again. “I will get to it.”

“Do you promise?”

North sighed. “Yes. I promise. I will do it tonight.”

“Okay…thank you,” Alfred said, genuinely thankful that North was doing this for them. As far as he knew, Kang Dae hadn’t done anything. “I know it must be weird. I mean…we’re not supposed to like each other or help each other. So…thank you.”

North simply waved a dismissive hand at him. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to cause an international _incident_ by refusing to help you.”

Well…Alfred wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a joke or if the Korean was dead serious. It was hard to tell, as always. Alfred just smiled and gave the Korean an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Haha, well, either way, I’m thankful. See you tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight…”

As it turned out, dinner with the Vice Foreign Minister was the least tense event of their trip so far. The Minister was extremely amiable, spoke English well, and had a way of putting the rest of the group at ease. Mr. Namkung especially seemed to take warmly to him. If the fact that the Korean Peninsula was at the brink of war hadn’t been tugging at everyone’s minds, it might have even been an exceptional night.

After dinner and before Alfred could return to his room, Mr. Richardson caught him and pulled him aside. “Did Mr. Im say anything to you about transportation today?”

“He said he’s working on it,” Alfred responded. “He said he can arrange for four people at the moment.”

“Four?” Mr. Richardson echoed in disbelief. “Just four?”

“Yeah. He said we could make two trips?”

“Is he planning on having us cross at the DMZ?”

“He doesn’t know yet.”

That thought seemed to make Mr. Richardson very anxious. “I hope he knows what he’s doing. We meet with North Korea’s vice president tomorrow, but I’m not sure what all we can do at this point. The South Korean exercises start soon. Go get some sleep.”

With those words weighing on his mind, Alfred dragged himself back to his room for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A lot of homes in North Korea don't have electricity. The one the group visits is very lucky.  
> \- Onban - literally means "warm meal" and resembles a Korean meal (soup, rice, sides) all combined into one.  
> \- Doenjang jjigae - soybean paste soup, the ingredients can vary by season and location, but it usually includes tofu or seafood  
> \- nakji samgyeopsal bokum - I'm not 100% sure on this one so forgive me if I'm wrong - cuts of squid and pork simmered in a salty, spicy sauce and served alongside vegetables  
> \- Pyongyang is also known for it's mul naengmyeon - cold buckwheat noodles, but it's mostly a summer dish - and its Pyongyang dumplings, which as far as I can tell are just pork dumplings, maybe with some ingredients a little more unique to North Korea  
> -"Annyeong" - "hello"


	11. The Brink

Alfred blinked awake Monday morning with a sense of dread settled heavy in his gut. Was this really the last day? He could hardly believe it. It seemed like he’d been in this country forever trying to help diffuse the situation, and yet, after five days in North Korea, it didn’t seem like anything had been accomplished. Aside from North’s word that he and Alfred were going to “start over,” what had been achieved? Mr. Richardson and the others had spent their mornings negotiating and pouring out suggestions to the North Koreans only to receive unclear answers and we’ll-think-about-its. At this point, it was hard to tell what might happen. Despite wanting to remain optimistic, Alfred had a sinking feeling about what might happen after the South Koreans started their drills. After a few minutes of lying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to ward away the sick feeling in his stomach, he got up to get dressed.

After breakfast, the group assembled outside the hotel and loaded into the two white minivans. Alfred again sat next to Mr. Blitzer, who was filming out the window with his handheld camera.

It was a surprisingly clear morning, the sun glistening on the now days-old snow, but Alfred could see wispy clouds drifting along in the distance. After a few minutes of driving through downtown Pyongyang, the group arrived at the People’s Assembly, a huge majestic structure of white granite and marble. As they pulled into the parking lot, Alfred noted how empty it was. There were just a few cars, most of them small, surprisingly similar looking black or white four-doors. It was somehow fitting, Alfred thought.

North waited for them on the steps, as usual.

Alfred approached him, but before he could even ask, North was already updating him on the transportation situation.

“I couldn’t do any better,” he confessed, though Alfred didn’t think the Korean seemed very apologetic. Getting a bunch of Americans out of his country was probably the least of North’s problems at the moment. “I can arrange for four to go to the border with China. The rest will have to wait.”

It wasn’t the news Alfred wanted to hear, but with any luck, all of them would be flying out that evening anyway. “How long does it take to get to China?” he asked.

“Six to eight hours,” North answered, though he paused for a moment to make a face. “With the snow, longer, maybe.”

Alfred sighed. It was difficult to hide his disappointment, but hopefully, they wouldn’t be needing any of this anyway. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for the plane. Was there any sign of the South Koreans starting their drills?” He figured it was a question North might know the answer to.

“They’ve actually looked ready for days,” North said, frowning. “Everything is in place. But they haven’t done anything yet.”

“So you can’t tell if they might start today?”

“No.”

“Well, if they do, just remember what we’ve been telling you all week. Hold back, okay?”

“We’ll do what we deem best for the country.”

Alfred resisted showing signs of frustration. That was almost the exact same answer they’d been given by every official they’d spoken to this week! Now, on the steps of the People’s Assembly, Alfred was sure they were going to get the exact same answer from North Korea’s Vice President during the meeting today.

On the inside, the People’s Assembly was nearly as impressive as it was on the outside. Spotlessly gleaming marble floors and huge, patriotic murals greeted them at every turn. It was pleasantly warm inside, but Alfred got the feeling that only the parts of the building that would be in use had been heated today.

North led them down the huge, high-ceilinged hallway to the meeting room. When they arrived, the Vice President and what must have been his entire board of advisors waited for them. When the American delegation entered, they all rose to greet them. North went to stand with his comrades.

“I’m very happy to meet my old friend,” the Vice President said—in English—as he shook Mr. Richardson’s hand. Mr. Blitzer, camera rolling, was there to record the diplomatic moment.

“I’m very happy to meet you as well,” Mr. Richardson replied, smiling, before reaching into his bag and pulling out five slim DVD cases. “I know your Dear Leader likes movies,” he said, holding them out for the Vice President to take. “These were all made in New Mexico—where I’m from. I hope you’ll share them with him.”

“Thank you very much,” the Vice President smiled, taking the DVDs and giving a little bow. Alfred hoped the gift would set a good tone for the meeting ahead. This was probably the highest official they were going to meet, as well as their last chance to make a difference.

After Mr. Blitzer was ushered out, the meeting began.

The Koreans, who must not have wanted to accidentally misunderstand anything, reverted back to Korean and the translator stepped in.

Mr. Richardson started off with a question: “Have you heard anything from the South Koreans?”

After a moment, the Vice President said through the translator: “Nothing.”

That answer was troubling to Alfred. North had said the South Koreans looked ready to start their drills at any time, hadn’t they? And yet, had they really said nothing to the North Koreans? No wonder they were so on edge. They had no idea what to expect, and the South Koreans weren’t talking to them. Now getting that hotline up and running seemed absolutely imperative.

Mr. Richardson, as though he’d heard Alfred’s thoughts, followed up with the same proposal he’d given in nearly every meeting they’d had this week—the hotline.

“That reminds me,” Mr. Richardson began, “of something I discussed with some of your comrades earlier this week.” He paused the make sure the Koreans were listening, then went on. “What I think we should do is set up a military hotline between you and the South. That way, in the future, you don’t have to be in the dark about these kinds of things.”

He went on to explain in more detail. Thought the Vice President listened intently as the translator relayed all the information back in Korean, Alfred had to wonder what the point was in re-explaining it all. Surely the Vice President would have heard this information by now from the officials they’d spoken to previously. The guy probably knew every detail before the meeting even began. When Mr. Richardson was done explaining, the Koreans took turns asking questions. To Alfred’s surprise, they were a bit different than the ones they’d been asked about the hotline previously. _Will the South Koreans actually use it? Who’s going to pay for it? Can it only be accessed from one location? Have the South Koreans agreed to this?_

This led to more discussion, and after a while:

“I think it would be a good idea.”

It wasn’t an outright yes, but it was closer to a yes than they’d gotten in any other meeting. Maybe, Alfred thought, this was a sign that the Dear Leader was listening and maybe even taking some of these proposals seriously when they finally got to his ears.

Mr. Richardson was clearly pleased, but he didn’t push any farther, probably concerned that the Koreans still wouldn’t be able to officially say yes. Instead he simply moved on to the next topic.

* * *

 

The morning was still young. The meeting had lasted only about an hour and a half. It was quite short, but it seemed like they’d gotten at least some vaguely positive responses. It was a good sign—it meant maybe the Koreans had been discussing among themselves what had been said during the meetings. Maybe it meant they were starting to listen. Maybe it meant they weren’t going to respond violently to the South’s drills whenever they started. Maybe it meant nothing at all and the peninsula was going to descend into war as soon as someone made a wrong move. It was a hard call, and the thought of the South Korean drills starting still made Alfred feel sick to his stomach.

For the remainder of the morning, Mr. Richardson was set to have another—private—meeting with the Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs. The rest of the group was set for another day of sightseeing. Alfred went looking for North.

He found the Korean leaning against a wall down a side hallway, facing away from him. Alfred looked closely and saw that North was on the phone. Though he strained his ears to listen, his found to his dismay that North’s Korean was spoken too fast and quiet for him to understand even a word. But just the fact that North seemed to be trying to keep his voice down told him that it must be an important call. Maybe it was straight from Kim Jong Il himself, but Alfred would probably never know for sure. Wary of getting caught eavesdropping and what the consequences might be, he ducked back out into the main hallway to wait for North.

A few minutes later, North emerged from the side hall. Alfred examined his face, but nothing about the Korean suggested that he was nervous or stressed. If something was going on, he was very good at keeping a straight face.

“Will you still be with us today?” Alfred asked as North approached him. He thought, if nothing else, whether or not North would be able to stay with them might tell him a bit about the situation. If North had to go somewhere else, Alfred could guess that something serious was happening.

But North’s answer was a simple, “Of course,” and he motioned for Alfred to follow him. It didn’t seem like whatever he was on the phone about was important enough to take him away from touring with the rest of the group. North led Alfred along in silence.

“Where are we going?” Alfred asked after a moment, eager to try and make some small talk with the Korean, who didn’t seem inclined to start a conversation on his own.

“Today, we’re taking you to see the Pyongyang Metro…and also, the factory where they make the finest silk thread in Asia.”

Alfred wasn’t sure he really believed that part about it being the finest in all of Asia, but he didn’t argue. They’d caught up with the rest of the group in the lobby.

“Are we going to wait for Mr. Richardson?” Alfred asked North as the group was herded into the minivans waiting outside.

“He’ll join us at lunch,” North answered as he took his seat. It looked like he’d be sitting next to Alfred today. “Maybe earlier. It depends how long his meeting goes.”

Alfred waited a moment, but North said nothing more. Though Alfred wanted to continue to hold a conversation with him, he was hesitant to do so with the others in the van. So, they rode along in silence.

After only a few minutes of driving, the vans parked along the curb of what seemed to be a very average street in downtown Pyongyang. The buildings were all the same, similar gray blocks, except for a mural of some soldiers that had been painted across the side of one. Ki Young, who seemed to be their guide for the day, led them down a set of stairs. After crossing a short, level platform, they boarded an escalator going down.

It was so long that Alfred realized he couldn’t see the bottom from the top. It seemed like they were riding forever before the end was finally in sight.

But despite the wait, the station did not disappoint. It was quite possibly the most impressive station Alfred had ever set eyes on, with its spotless floors and high ceiling, which arched above their heads gracefully. Amazingly, chandeliers had been installed in the station. Murals similar to those above ground had been painted anywhere where intricate engravings in the stone walls were not enough to make jaws drop. It was quite simply an incredible subway station.

“This is called Prosperity Station,” North said to Alfred, no doubt proud of how prosperous the station looked on its own. “Opened in 1973. It’s one of the deepest subway systems in the world—and also doubles as a bomb shelter.”

Alfred stared.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Is this what you were on the phone about?”

It was North’s turn to stare. “Were you spying on me?”

Alfred huffed and tugged the Korean to the side as Ki Young went to work showing the rest of the group around the station. “Yeah, whatever, I was spying. I saw you on your phone. Did something happen? Are the drills starting soon? Is that why—”

“Be quiet,” North hissed tersely, cutting him off. “No. This is purely coincidence.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Alfred asked, really, legitimately unsure. “It doesn’t seem like coincidence.”

“It’s coincidence,” North assured him. “Everyone sees the station. This was scheduled from the beginning.”

“For today?”

“Yes,” North hissed through his teeth, clearly annoyed. “Stop worrying. Even if something happened, you couldn’t ask to be in a safer place.”

“Yes, I could,” Alfred retorted, pulling North closer so passersby couldn’t hear. “I could ask to not be on a peninsula that’s at the brink of war. I could ask to live in a world where inter-Korean relations aren’t a problem. That way, none of us would be here in the first place.”

“Stop,” North grunted quietly, trying to keep his voice down. “You’re making a scene.”

“ _You’re_ ignoring the problem!” Alfred insisted. “If you would just stop playing this game of brinkmanship—of seeing how far you can push people—you wouldn’t need to have a bomb shelter in a subway station in the first place!”

North was silent for a moment, quietly seething behind those dark eyes of his. He seemed to consider for a moment whether or not this was a fight worth having in the middle of a subway station. Then, he pulled Alfred farther off to the side, away from the crowds, before turning to him again, his anger visible.

“Whatever happens now is as much out of your hands as it is out of mine,” North growled, still gripping the American’s arm—tightly enough for it to be uncomfortable. “Stop acting like I have control over everything. I can’t control whether or not South wants to bomb me.”

“He doesn’t want to bomb you! They’re just drills!”

“How do you know?” North snapped. “How do you know? Have you ever stood on the brink, wondering whether or not a devastating attack might come?”

“ _Yes!”_ Alfred said, exasperated. “Yes, I have, North! For the entire fucking Cold War! I woke up every day wondering if Russia was going to nuke me.”

North wrinkled his nose, seeming to concede this point. “But has it ever been so personal for you?” North asked. “Has it ever been your own brother standing on the other side—with his finger on the trigger, threatening to wipe you off the map? Has it ever been your own brother telling you that you shouldn’t exist, or that you’re unfit to be a nation?”

Alfred was silent for a moment. He couldn’t claim to have felt an equivalent. The closest he could come to that feeling was staring down the barrel of Arthur’s gun during the Revolutionary War. But that had been near the end of the war, when Alfred’s victory was all but assured. Even if he had lost, America was a body far and separate from the British Isles, with a people and culture all its own. There was little chance he would have disappeared. Korea was another case. They had once been one nation, one people. No one was sure what would happen when or if the two reunified. One of them disappearing was a very real possibility.

Deciding he couldn’t claim an equivalent, he simply said, “I seriously doubt Yong Soo ever said those things to you.”

“Of course you do,” North said, finally loosening his grip on Alfred’s arm. “You don’t know that side of him.”

Then, North let him go, lingering to glare at him for a moment longer before going to rejoin the group.

Alfred followed along grudgingly. If only he’d kept his big mouth shut and let North brag about his subway…

They rode the subway only to the next stop before getting off. This station, called Glory Station, was even more magnificent than the first, with a higher ceiling and more intricate carvings decorating its support columns. Ki Young told the group more about the history of the subway and its construction before finally leading them towards a set of escalators that would take them back to the surface.

When they were safely above ground once more, they found that their drivers had driven the minivans to the subway stop to pick them up. While they loaded up, they were each given a small container with their lunch—rice and grilled squid—to-go. Mr. Richardson, they were told, would be meeting them at their next stop—the silk factory.

The silk factory was entirely female-run. All women. No men. Workers were everywhere, spinning away or dying fresh silk threads with extravagant colors, or tending to the thousands and thousands of silk worms that spent their days happily living out their life cycle before meeting an untimely end in a vat of boiling water, used to remove the silk threads from their cocoons. A young lady, dressed elegantly in a dress no doubt made proudly from the factory’s silk, lead the group through the process from silk worm to silk fabric, then made a big show of presenting some sample fabric swatches made from the factory’s silk.

As the swatches were being passed around, Alfred decided to try and lighten the mood a little—or at least his own, anyway. When a particularly girly looking swatch spun from white and pink threads reached him, he turned to North, smirking, and held it against the olive drab of the other’s military jacket.

“You wear that military stuff all the time,” Alfred said, still smiling. “I think you need a change of style. This one suits you.”

At first, North glared, and Alfred was sure North was going to blow up at him again. Fantastic! Right when he’s trying to lighten the mood, he screws it up and makes things worse again. After his previous conversation with North, he really should have expected this.

But to his surprise, the Korean just rolled his eyes and shoved the swatch back at him. “It suits you better.”

Alfred was silent for a moment, almost stupidly happy at the mild response. “Nah. Too girly,” Alfred replied, happy, at least, that North hadn’t bitten his head off over the little joke. “I need something really sharp and heroic—like a suit made of gold and white silk. I’d look like a god!”

“You’d look like an idiot.”

“I’d look awesome in that!”

“You look like an idiot all the time,” North sneered. “Nothing you can put on is going to change that.”

Alfred huffed, insulted, but after insinuating that North was a girl, he should have expected an answer like that. “Okay, then, what color would _you_ choose?”  
  
North paused for a moment, looking through the swatches, before reaching for a red swatch with a tint that made it look like a fine wine. “This one. For me, not you. There’s no hope for you.”  
  
“Red?” Alfred asked, trying to imagine the Korean wearing something so vibrant in place of the dull military jackets he usually wore. “Like that commie blood of yours?”  
  
“If it were any other color,” North hummed, “I would be concerned.”

* * *

 

Mr. Richardson, who had rejoined them shortly before their departure from the factory, looked concerned.

“Look at the sky,” he said as the group walked from the factory doors to the waiting vans. “All this rolled in in the past few hours.”

Indeed, the sky, which had been relatively clear for most of the morning, had clouded over during their tour of the silk factory.  Thick, blanketing stratus clouds seemed to float by almost low enough to be touched. A moist wind was blowing in from the west.

“I hope this doesn’t affect our flight out,” someone said.

Sure enough, shortly after they’d arrived back at the hotel to pick up their things, Ki Young got a call. Thick banks of fog had rolled in at the airport. Their adventure in Korea wasn’t over yet. They wouldn’t be leaving tonight after all.

“Your flight’s been rescheduled to the morning,” Ki Young told them.

Well, they’d made it this long without the Korean Peninsula descending into war, Alfred thought…surely they could make it through the night. Then it would just be a matter of leaving the country. With any luck, the North Koreans would just listen to what the American delegation had been telling them all week and not respond to the drills at all, whenever they took place.

Alfred looked around for North—wanting, at least, to urge him one last time not to retaliate in case he didn’t see him in the morning—but the Korean seemed to have already slipped away. The rest of the group had been invited down to the karaoke bar—something to take their minds off the circumstances—but Alfred politely declined. How much influence the Americans were having on the North Koreans’ decision was really up in the air, but Alfred couldn’t help feeling that if the Koreans went to war, it would be partially his fault for not doing a better job at talking to North. No amount of karaoke was going to take his mind off that.

Instead, he dragged himself back to his room, thought about turning on the TV, and then decided against it. It wasn’t like anything on would be worth watching anyway. What did that leave for him to do?  He didn’t have a phone, computer, or even a book to keep himself entertained, so he simply laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, running through the whole trip in his mind—the things he’d done, the things he’d said—everything. Maybe if he hadn’t made a joke here, or hadn’t said that thing there, North would have been more open to the things he’d been telling him. Or maybe he should’ve told more jokes and tried to talk to North more like a friend. Or maybe he should’ve just talked less overall. Maybe nothing he’d said to North would mean anything in the end. Maybe it would mean everything. Alfred didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think about the possible outcomes, but he couldn’t help it. As a nation, if he could stop a war by talking with another nation, he felt like it was his responsibility to do so. What if he’d just screwed it all up?

He sat like that for hours, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay, before falling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

 

The fog burned off a few hours after sunrise the next morning.  Alfred, who had found himself unable to sleep much after sunrise anyway, had spent those hours packing his things and was ready to go as soon as the white minivans pulled up in the hotel parking lot.

He was very stressed, he realized. Priority number one was getting his own citizens out of the danger zone. Priority number two was making sure he’d done everything within his small power to prevent a war before he left. After that, it was out of his hands. He wouldn’t be okay, he realized, until his citizens were home and the drills were over and done with, assuming nothing else happened after that. It was the suspense that was killing him.

After everyone had their things loaded up, they left for the airport.

When they arrived, to Alfred’s great relief, North was waiting for them. As everyone else got their things unloaded, he wasted no time in going to talk to the Korean.

“Good morning, American,” North said flatly as he approached, showing no particular delight or remorse at Alfred’s pending departure.

“Good morning,” Alfred replied hurriedly, wanting to get to the point. “Anything on the South Koreans?”

“I don’t know,” North said, shaking his head. “I can’t monitor them from here.”

“What about on your end?”

North made a face. “What do you mean?”

“Are you still…planning on striking back?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“That’s _all_ of my business!” Alfred said, exasperated. Here he was, doing everything in his power to prevent a war while North dodged his questions and acted like nothing he was saying even mattered! It was so frustrating, feeling like he had no power but doing everything he could anyway while the North Koreans just dragged their feet. “We’ve spent days trying to tell you why that’s a bad idea!”

“We’ll do what we deem best for the country,” North said flatly—the same answer as always.

That was just about the last straw. Even through all the frustration, Alfred’s stomach felt toxic with anticipation. This was his last chance to make a difference, and with the way this conversation was going, it didn’t feel like he was making much of one at all. Whatever he said next, it had better be good. “I’ll tell you right now,” he said, “that war is not it. Think about your people. Do you want to put them through that? Over drills that aren’t even a real threat to you? These people are your responsibility. Why don’t you start acting like you actually care about them?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far. North narrowed his eyes, glaring back at Alfred dangerously. “You worry about yours. I’ll worry about mine.”

The rest of the group had finished unloading their baggage and were regrouping off to the side. There were two dull thuds as the backs of the vans were closed. And then, a distant third.

Alfred paused.

For a moment, there was silence, and then—

_Boom._

The rest of the group froze.

_Boom._

Alfred glanced at North, who had fixed his hollow gaze southward.

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

Mr. Richardson and Mr. Namkung exchanged a look. Mr. Blitzer seemed to be debating between whether or not to switch on his camera. The two guides hovered uncomfortably between the group and the airport entrance. Everyone knew what was going on.

Suddenly, North’s phone rang.


	12. Waiting

To Alfred, the sound was unmistakable. The sound of distant shells wasn’t exactly something that left you once the war was over. The Revolution, the Civil War, the World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, the Middle East. From distant cannon fire to far off shells exploding, it was a sound that stuck in a person’s mind, especially a nation’s mind—for it was a sound that meant somewhere, too far off for a nation to make a difference, people were dying.

And if something went wrong in the next few minutes, that was exactly what the sound of distant shells was going to mean.

North was fumbling in his pocket for his phone, urgently ringing with a call that couldn’t be good. Before he knew what he was doing, Alfred reached out and grabbed the Korean’s wrist, just as he’d managed to pull the phone from his pocket. North turned and glared at him dangerously, but Alfred held fast.

“Just…just remember what I said, okay?” he said, trying his hardest to give a well-meaning, encouraging smile.

North held his gaze for only a moment before wrenching his hand away and answering his phone. “Yeoboseyo.”

All eyes were on North, who exchanged only a few words with whoever was on the other line before hanging up. Everyone stared at him expectantly, but North didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply made a gesture at their handlers, who must have known what it meant, because they began to herd the group back into the vans.

“Wait—North!” Alfred called, trying to go after him, only to find himself cut off by the larger of the two handlers, whose entire purpose on the trip seemed to have become clear. “What’s going on?”

“Follow your guides,” North said simply, waving a hand dismissively.

“North!” Alfred repeated, this time visibly angry. God damn it! Why did North have to be so ambiguous and stoic all the time? Here was Alfred legitimately fearing for the safety of _literally_ millions of people and, once again, North was blowing him off as if none of it mattered. To make things worse, Kang Dae, who had clearly only been assigned to them because he was probably the only guy in the whole country short of North himself who may have come remotely close to being able to take Alfred, was doing a _very_   nice job of standing right in his way and making it very difficult to get at North.

“Follow. Your. Guides,” North said again, firmly, before turning to leave. “They’ll explain.”

Alfred, still furious that North just couldn’t give him a straight answer—ever—had no choice but to let Kang Dae herd him back towards the vans with the others. He got in, fuming, next to Mr. Richardson.

“It’s okay,” Mr. Richardson said in an effort to calm him. “Calm down.”

“It’s not okay!” Alfred exclaimed after taking a quick glance around to make sure Mr. Blitzer hadn’t climbed into the same van before speaking as a nation. “I’m supposed to protect people and I feel as helpless as ever.”

“We’ve done everything we can,” Mr. Richardson assured him. “It’s up to the North Koreans now. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

Once everyone had been loaded up, they were driven back to the hotel. Clearly they weren’t leaving yet.

After everyone was inside, the two guides sat them down in the lobby and attempted to explain what was going on. If the drills started before the group left the country, they were supposed to head back to the hotel, which is what their guides had done. From there they were simply supposed to wait and see what happens. If things went sour, they’d try to get the group to China somehow.

Where was North? Alfred had asked one of them privately after the meeting had dispersed. Busy, he’d been told. Unhelpful as ever.

He had to wonder if North had actually tried to arrange transportation for them at all. Every time he tried to talk to the guy, it seemed, he was blown off. But he was trying to give the Korean the benefit of the doubt, as hard as it was. North had to be just as stressed as he was. No nation _wanted_ to go to war. If the North Koreans hadn’t been so paranoid that war was always just around the corner, maybe Alfred could have believed that North truly didn’t care about his people. But he had to be paranoid for a reason. It had to be because he was afraid of going to war. And that fear, Alfred hoped, would keep them from having one today.

Most of the group lingered in the lobby, hoping that the drills would end, and soon enough, they’d be on their way.

About an hour and a half later, the distant booms emanating from the south ceased. Still, the group was left with no clues as to what might be happening. Alfred positioned himself in front of the TV, hoping it could reveal something about the situation, but so far, it was the same, nationalistic programming as always. Neither guide seemed to have received any information about what was happening either.

They were treated to lunch by the hotel’s restaurant, and then began an afternoon of waiting. About an hour in, Ki Young made a call. He never revealed who he’d spoken to, or what they had told him, but the call lasted less than a minute. Alfred suspected the guides weren’t getting much of an update on the situation either.

Alfred spent the afternoon with a sick feeling in his stomach. Again, he had barely eaten at lunch. He couldn’t eat when he was so nervous. The feeling stuck with him for the remainder of the afternoon. His head swam with questions and “what ifs.” What would he do if they were at war in the morning? How was Yong Soo going to feel about all this? Would he feel sorry for North if something happened to him?

Finally, as the afternoon slipped into evening, the North Korean television station began to report on the day’s drills. Alfred couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but Mr. Nankung was there to translate.

“So far, they are basically just informing the public of what happened today,” Mr. Nankung said. “The booms they heard were the drills. They call the drills an abomination and an overstepping.”

After some stock footage of the North Korean military, the station cut away to the next thing scheduled, which, as it turned out, was some old Chinese drama.

“That’s it?” Someone asked.

“It appears so.”

Alfred sighed. So, they still didn’t know what was going on. If they were going to war, would the North Korean TV station report on it? Would they spin fighting in a war as noble and patriotic in order to gain the public favor, or try to cover it up completely? Thankfully at least, no one had heard any additional booms since that morning, so there was less reason to think the North Koreans had responded violently, if at all.

Ki Young made another call—just as short as the last. But this time, at least, he offered an explanation. “He said to call back.”

Alfred hoped that was a good sign, but he wasn’t exactly sure how it could be.

An hour later, the Chinese drama ended, and the North Korean news returned. Everyone turned their attention back to the TV, practically on the edge of their seats.

The anchor lady spoke for a moment as military stock footage played behind her, then the scene cut to a military official speaking. When he was done, everyone looked to Mr. Nankung, who happily translated: “We felt it was not worth reacting one by one to military provocations. The South Korean drills are simply childish play by fire.”

There was an instant, groupwide sigh of relief. Alfred wanted to laugh—just out of sheer happiness. They weren’t going to war. Not today. Things might be okay, at least until next time.

“My god, this is great,” Mr. Richardson said. “This is good news. Maybe we had an impact.”

Alfred wondered the same. He had been worrying so much about how much of an impact he _hadn’t_ had on North. They’d been in meetings all week, saying the same things and getting the same, vague answers. North Koreans were so hard to read. Maybe they’d never planned to take anything the Americans said into account at all. But maybe something Alfred said managed to get through to North. If the North Koreans had been on the fence about what to do, maybe North had thought back to something Alfred had said and swayed his leaders the other way. Maybe none of it mattered at all. But, Alfred decided, he was going to hope something he’d said had mattered. He had to keep thinking that way, he realized, because one day, it really might matter. If he lost hope that others listened to what he had to say, he might stop speaking, and one day, something he didn’t say could have made the difference.

Ki Young, was on the phone again, this time with someone who must have had the time to speak to him. He spoke for a while, and a moment later, he hung up.

“You can fly out now,” he announced. “They are allowing activity at the airport once again.”

The lobby was soon bustling with people trying to find their things so they could once again pack up and leave. In just a few minutes, they were off.

Alfred was disappointed to find that North hadn’t come to meet them at the airport, but he couldn’t blame him. The guy had probably been too busy to even think about coming to say goodbye. After all, why would that be at the top of his list of priorities? Earlier that afternoon, he was sitting on the brink of war. Alfred was sure, at this moment, North was sitting somewhere surrounded by a bunch of military officials, discussing what the effects of their decision not to retaliate might be.

A worker approached them with a box containing all the items they’d been required to leave at the airport—passports, laptops, and most importantly cell phones. Alfred had never been so happy to have an electronic device back in his hands in his entire life.

Night had fallen by the time the plane lifted off, but that was just fine by Alfred. He’d managed to fall asleep on the short flight from Pyongyang back to Beijing and had to be awoken so everyone could transfer to another flight back to the states. Once on the second plane, he was sure he’d slept nearly the entire trip. He’d simply been worrying too much during the past week to get decent sleep.

When the plane landed, the first thing Alfred did was check his phone. No surprise—it had been absolutely blown up with text messages.

_Matthew: hey, you okay?_

_Matthew: have you left yet?_

_Matthew: are you back?_

_Matthew: just text me when you can._

_Kiku: I am watching the news. I hope you are okay._

_Yong Soo: hey text me when you land_

_YongSoo: oh my god weren’t you supposed to be back by now_

_Yong Soo: did that shitface let you leave yet_

_Yong Soo: I’m gonna kick his ass next time I see him_

Alfred couldn’t help but suppress a chuckle. It was nice to know people cared about him, even though as nations, they didn’t really have to. He ended up sending the three of them the same message.

_Alfred: I’m fine we just got delayed a bit_

Additionally, he thought Yong Soo’s words probably warranted something extra.

_Alfred: and it’s okay you don’t need to do that._

After all, it was such hostile feelings between the two Korean brothers that had led to this situation in the first place. If they’d been on slightly better terms, maybe—just _maybe_ —North wouldn’t have been convinced South was going to try and wipe him off the map, and this whole crisis wouldn’t have even been a problem.

But, Alfred was content to leave the “what ifs” for another day. He was still exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to go home, stretch out on his couch, and watch a movie or something. Sometimes he wished he could live a life without the stresses of being a nation—just have a job and raise a family and not worry about what war he might be fighting next.

But if he did that, who would be watching out to make sure crises like these didn’t happen?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Mr. Richardson patting him on the back and telling him to take care. “Yeah, you too!” he replied.

Soon, everyone went their separate ways. With his latest journey at a close, all that was left for Alfred to do was find a taxi to take him home.


	13. Another Christmas

Alfred, unfortunately, didn’t get much of a rest once he arrived back at his Pennsylvania home. The next morning, he got a call from the White House: he needed to come in to be questioned about the trip.

“Can’t this wait a day?” Alfred asked with a sigh. He had only just gotten back a day ago, it was nearly Christmas, and talking about his trip was rather low on his list of priorities.

“No,” the woman on the other line replied. “The Pentagon wants this done while it’s still fresh in your mind. And the president wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly, wishing the guys at the Pentagon weren’t so paranoid about wire taps and that this could just be done over the phone. “When do they want to see me?”

“This afternoon at the White House.”

Alfred sighed.

“All right. I’ll be there,” he said before hanging up.

It seemed he’d never get a break.

The World Conferences had only ended, what? A few weeks ago? Almost immediately afterward he’d been called on to help diffuse the Korea crisis, and with all that going on, he’d nearly lost track of the fact that Christmas was a mere two days away. And now this.

With a groan, he went to get dressed.

A few hours later, he was walking into the White House, his lunch—hastily ordered from the McDonald’s down the street—in hand. Inside, he walked to the usual reception office, where the woman he’d spoken to over the phone, Mrs. Webb, was waiting for him.

“Hi, Alfred,” she said when she saw him. “The president is waiting for you in his office. The Pentagon’s up there too.”

“Okay, thanks,” he replied, happy he didn’t need to fill out any paperwork today, at least not yet. Normally, if there was something he needed to do, she would have given it to him.

When he got to the Oval Office, the president and two Pentagon workers were already seated on the couches.

“Come on in, Alfred,” the president said when he noticed Alfred hovering in the doorway. Alfred dragged himself in and plopped down on a couch lazily.

“Sorry about this, boys,” he said, eying the two stiff-looking Pentagon workers across from him as he began unpacking his lunch from the bag. “I hope you don’t mind McDonald’s…”

“No…it’s fine,” one of them said, looking very much like he was trying to hide his judgment. Sure, maybe eating wasn’t the most _professional_ thing for Alfred to be doing at a meeting, but he was tired, he was hungry, and he was the United States of America. What were these guys going to do about it?

“Well…I guess we should get started,” the president said, clearly trying to move on before everyone could get too distracted. “Why don’t you start by just telling us your impressions, Alfred. How did it go?”

Alfred, who had just taken a bite out of his burger when asked, had to wait a moment before answering. Too many times he’d been scolded for talking with his mouth full. “It…went.”

“More specific,” one of the agents said. “Give us a timeline.”

Alfred frowned, spitefully taking another mouthful of burger before asking, “Where should I start from?”

“When you landed in Pyongyang.”

“Okay…” Alfred began, trying to remember how it had all happened. Even though it had only been a few days ago, he was tired enough that the memories were already growing a bit fuzzy. “So, we landed in Pyongyang and met our handlers—”

“Their names?” One of the agents interrupted.

“Ki Young and Kang Dae.”

“Last names?”

“I dunno. Probably Kim or something?”

The agent didn’t look amused, but didn’t press him any further. “Go on.”

“Then they took our phones and stuff,” Alfred continued, “and just held them at the airport. Then we went outside to pack our stuff into cars to go to the hotel, and I met North.”

Then the two agents were shuffling through their folders and pulled out a file labeled “North Korea” on the front. “Tell us about him,” one of them said.

“Okay. His name’s—”

“We know his name.”

Alfred frowned, too tired and stressed to tolerate being constantly interrupted at this point. “Well, gee. Sorry. You asked for the last guys’ names, so I thought—”

“Alfred,” the president scolded.

“You picked the two stiffest feds possible!”

“Focus, Alfred.”

Alfred huffed, directing his attention back towards the agents. “Fine. What do you want to know? Be more _specific.”_

The agent asking the questions chose to ignore Alfred’s mocking tone, but the tension in his jaw was obvious. “What was his initial attitude towards you?”

“I don’t know. He was…distant,” Alfred decided, trying to choose the right word. “But polite.”

“Did he ever seem like he was trying to threaten you?”

“Not really.”

“What about brown-nose you?”

Now _that_ made Alfred want to laugh. “Pff. No.”

The agent simply shrugged. “It was a possibility. What happened next?”

“We went to the hotel,” Alfred continued, “And the next morning we woke up and went to the first meeting.”

“Tell us about that,” one of the agents suggested.

“Well, I was actually a little late—” Alfred started before catching himself. That was the morning North had dragged him off to some deserted highway in the middle of a snow storm with the entire purpose of doing so being to avoid being overheard. Were the things said in that discussion simply things North didn’t want to get back to his leaders, or were they meant to stay between him and Alfred, period?

Both agents and the president were waiting for him to go on. “Why is that?”

Alfred didn’t really want to breach whatever trust of North’s he’d managed to get, but it didn’t look like he had much choice. Even if he’d gone with the story that he and North had gone back to the hotel to get something someone else had left behind, he was sure the feds were interviewing everyone else who had been in the group. They would find out that nothing had been left behind and that that was a lie. Then they’d want to know why he’d gone off with North, and he’d have to tell them anyway.

Plus, if it came down to what was said during that conversation being an issue of national security, he had an obligation to tell. It wasn’t like the feds were going to tell anyone anyway. Keeping secrets was what they did.

“North wanted to talk to me.”

“About what?” Both agents had out notepads now, ready to write down whatever Alfred said. The president simply waited curiously.

“He, uh,” Alfred went on, a bit uncertainly. “—Er, well, the night before I’d asked him why they had asked to talk to Americans, but he didn’t get to answer me. So the next day when he talked he told me he had asked to request a group of Americans.”

“He asked his leaders?” One of the agents pressed.

“I…guess.”

The both wrote this down eagerly. “On the rest of your trip, did he mention asking his leaders to do anything else? Or did you get the impression that they listen to his input?”

“Well—during the meetings with everyone else he didn’t really say anything,” Alfred said with a frown. “I kind of got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to.”

“Anything else?”

“He got phone calls sometimes,” Alfred added. The agents both wrote that down quickly. Yes, North Korea had a phone. It was important to them, apparently. “I don’t know who he was talking to though.”

The two agents continued to ask him questions about the trip, sometimes about the meetings or the places they were taken to sightsee, but mostly about North. Alfred avoided mentioning that he and North tried to “start over.” He figured that the feds would think him stupid for trying, and that North was probably just doing it in the spirit of the crisis anyway. He’d probably go back to hating Alfred in a week. Like a typical commie.  
  
“We’re trying to figure out how much power he has within his system,” one of the agents explained. “And also whether he’s more government oriented or citizen oriented. He’s basically the nation we know the least about.”

When the Pentagon agents left, Alfred turned to the president. “You guys sure are interested in this trip that you said your administration wanted nothing to do with.”

“It’s national security, Alfred,” the president responded simply. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I know!” Alfred said. “But if you wanted me to do all this spy work you could have…you know…asked?”

“We wanted things to happen naturally.”

“Sure.” Alfred didn’t buy it. He was pretty sure the administration just didn’t want to feel guilty if they sent him to do all that stuff and then something went wrong because of it. He started digging through the McDonald’s bag for the last of the fries at the bottom.

“We’re just trying to figure out what they’re playing at, Alfred,” the president explained. “They may have been fabricating a crisis—threatening all-out war to get us back to the negotiating table with them.”

“Is it bad that they want to negotiate?”

“It is when they let us know like that, Alfred.”

Alfred huffed and stuffed the last of his fries in his mouth. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them. “Is that it then? Or do you have some paperwork for me to do?”

“No, that’s all,” the president said with a smile. “You’re free to go. Enjoy your holiday.”

“Thanks. You too.”

After crumpling up his bag, he was out of there. Time to put this whole mess behind him.

Yeah, he knew everyone was cranky and stressed because it was nearly Christmas. He felt a little bad for the way he’d acted in there, looking back on it, but who could blame him? He’d been around and dealing with this stuff for over 200 years. It got old.

Christmas did too, to be honest.

After a couple hundred Chistmases, it got a bit hard to find gifts he hadn’t given before, and now he only had two days to find something suitable for each person.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, and found that he had gotten a couple texts from Matthew, who was playing host this year.

_Matthew: can you get here tomorrow night?_

_Matthew: oh yeah and you’re making apple pie on christmas. it was requested._

Alfred sighed, then started writing his response.

_Alfred: yeah sure just buy the ingredients for me_

_Alfred: oh yeah are australia and zealand still coming?_

While he was waiting for a response, he hopped on the bus heading to the nearest shopping district. He knew it was going to be packed and that all the stores were probably pretty picked over, but hopefully he could still find something.

After a few minutes, his pocket buzzed.

_Matthew: ok. and australia is but zealand isn’t anymore._

Great. So that meant he just had to buy for Matthew, Francis, Arthur, and Jett.

When he got off the bus, he just went into the first store he saw. The place was packed with people doing last minute shopping, but it seemed like there was still merchandise on the shelves, which was a good thing. He slipped between some people meandering slowly around the doorway and went deeper into the store.

The store’s shelves were stocked mainly with knick-knacks and other trinkets. It was really…more of a girly store. It felt like a place someone’s grandmother would have shopped—or else where someone would shop for their grandmother. Which was fitting, really—since England and France were, basically, old grandmas. There were shelves of ceramic statues of animals and angels and crosses, and even more shelves filled with snow globes and various Christmas décor.

Eventually, he came across a shelf filled with cookbooks, and he began leafing through one absent-mindedly. He’d gotten Arthur cookbooks on various occasions in an effort to help the old man find something he was actually able to make. Usually, Arthur was pleased to receive them, but whether or not the new recipes came out well was really hit or miss. On the other hand, he’d gotten Francis cookbooks before too, but the Frenchman usually just muttered about Arthur needing it more, and Alfred had never once witnessed Francis cooking something out of a cookbook he’d gotten him.

He put the book down and moved on to the next aisle.

The next aisle was pretty empty, most of the merchandise having already been snatched up by people here much earlier than him, but there were a few things scattered messily about on the shelves. At first he was about to leave—the aisle was filled with some very granny-ish things—but then, tossed under some flowery aprons at the back of one of the shelves, he caught a glimpse of the French flag. Normally, Alfred didn’t buy nations things with their flags on them—they got enough of that—but when he pulled out the French apron, he saw the Union Jack sitting right underneath it. It was clear that someone had stuffed them back here with the intent of coming back for them later, but Alfred saw no sign of anyone else coming down the aisle, and that person may never come back anyway. And he was a little desperate.

And—then he had an idea.

The aprons didn’t quite seem like enough, but he thought of the cookbooks he’d seen earlier. What if he got Arthur and Francis their respective flag aprons, and then the same cookbook? It might motivate Arthur to cook better and actually get Francis to cook something out of a cookbook Alfred had gotten him if he thought it meant he’d be doing it better than Arthur.

It was a plan, he decided. So, he swung back by the aisle with the cookbooks and pulled out two copies of one advertising New England cuisine on the cover.

After standing in line and paying, he was back out on the street, looking for stuff for Matthew and Jett.

After some wandering, he managed to find a cowboy hat (a _pink_ one, no less) that he thought Jett would get a kick out of. As he was thinking about how ridiculous the hat really was, he realized how jokey this stuff really seemed. Why not just make this year a gag gift year? He could even switch the French and British aprons so that Francis and Arthur got the opposite one as a joke. Yeah, that would be hilarious! That was it. It had to be done.

That just left Matthew, and now he had to find him something just as stupid for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something bright and colorful. He glanced at what had caught his attention and—

Candy store.

Matthew’s present could wait a second. Right now, Alfred wanted a giant lollipop. He’d spent all week dealing with North Koreans. He deserved it.

The store was busy, of course. The place was filled with people doing last minute Christmas shopping and buying last minute stocking stuffers. The shelves were stocked with a mixture of the usual and special Christmas additions in red, green, and white.

Now where were those giant lollipops?

When he finally caught sight of them, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Right next to them, shining in giant, gummy glory was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

A five pound gummy bear.

He was literally a kid in a candy store.

But as much as he wanted to buy a giant gummy bear for himself, he was pretty sure he’d just found Matthew’s Christmas present. If _Alfred_ was this excited for it, surely Matt would be too. Too bad he only had enough money left to buy one, or else he would have gotten one too. He’d settle for the lollipop he decided, and get the bear for Matthew.

Soon he headed out, Christmas presents and giant lollipop in hand. He was done. What a relief.

By the time he got home that night, it was nearly dark. Wrapping this stuff could wait until tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to eat something and relax. He ended up making himself a microwave dinner and falling asleep on the couch halfway through _Elf._

The next morning, he awoke with a mix of excitement and dread. Christmas Eve Day. He had to be at Matthew’s house tonight. He hadn’t booked a plane or anything, so it looked like he was driving. And it was a long trip even without all the Christmas traffic.

He brewed himself some coffee and quickly wrapped his gifts, making sure to give France and England their opposite flags, then went to throw some clothes into a suitcase. As soon as he was done, he packed it into his car and headed out.

Traffic was terrible, of course. Despite only stopping once to grab lunch and go to the bathroom, the trip took practically all day. It was evening when he arrived at Matthew’s house just outside of Toronto.

The house was decorated with the usual lights along the edges of the roof, as well as wrapped around the property’s trees and bushes. There was also a lit up sled and a reindeer, which Alfred had managed to convince Matthew to buy a single, large red bulb for, since it was only right that the reindeer be Rudolph. There were other cars in the driveway and the lights in the house were on, so someone was home, obviously.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

A moment later, the door opened, but…there wasn’t anyone there.

“Very funny, Matt,” Alfred said, thinking this was yet another practical joke. It happened pretty much every year.

But then—“Oh. You again.”

Many years ago, Matthew had found an injured polar bear cub abandoned by the side of the road. Its injuries were too severe for it to ever return to the wild, where it would have had a permanent limp, so Matthew had decided to adopt it. Since he had just established relations with Japan, he let Japan name the cub. Unfortunately, the name had been Japanese, and no one seemed to be able to remember it but the bear itself. Thanks to the strange magic that surrounded nations, the cub had not only learned to talk, but stayed eternally young after its injuries had healed.

Yes, it was the bear, too short for Alfred to see, who had answered the door.

“Hey, uh…bear,” Alfred said, not even going to bother digging through his memory for the bear’s name this time. “Where’s your friend?”

“Who?”

“Matthew! Where’s Matthew?”

“Oh, that guy,” the bear muttered. “Fighting with that other guy.”

“What other guy?” Alfred asked.

“Mm?” The bear simply did what must have been the bear equivalent of a shrug and meandered back off into the house. Great. Now Alfred was stuck in the doorway with a bunch of packages and no one to help him figure out where he was supposed to put them. He ended up just piling them inside by the doorway while he wandered off to find his brother.

He searched several rooms before finding Matthew and Jett upstairs in the media room, arguing.

“ _Please,_ Jett, I’m trying to clean! Move your feet!”

“Why didn’t ya clean before I got here?”

“I’ve been _busy,_ unlike you! Now move!” Matthew insisted, shoving the Australian’s feet off the coffee table he was trying to clean.

Alfred wasn’t really sure how to interrupt them, so he sort of just—

“Uh, guys?”

Jett paused the game he was playing and glanced back at Alfred, breaking into a big smile. “Aw, hey, America! Why don’t ya come play a round with me?”

“Jett!” Matthew cried, clearly exasperated. “I’m sorry, Alfred! I’ve been trying to get last minute things done all night and Jett’s being no help at all! Merry Christmas! Do you need help unpacking? Go help him, Jett!”

“Aw, he’s a big guy,” Jett drawled. “He can handle it by himself.”

“It’s okay!” Alfred insisted. “I just put my stuff by the door for now. What are you doing?”

“I’m _trying_ to clean this room so we can actually _use_ it to watch Christmas movies later!” Matthew replied, moving a stack of magazines off the table and going to place them on a shelf across the room. “Can you help? Maybe start by unplugging the Playstation?”

“Hey!” Jett objected, his expression turning to horror as Alfred actually went over and unplugged the thing. He hated seeing Matthew this stressed and upset. Jett could wait to play his game. “What’s the big idea?”

“The faster you help us get this place cleaned up, the faster Matthew will let you play your game!” Alfred assured him. “Sound good?”

“Not really.”

“Too bad!”

After a bit of prodding, they finally managed to get the Australian up off the couch, and after a while, the mess in the room had been cleared up enough that the room would be usable for a couple of days.

“Is that all?” Alfred asked.

“I think so,” Matthew answered, seeming content with the job they’d done.

“So can I play my game now?” Jett asked almost immediately.

Matthew sighed in defeat. “I suppose so.”

“Aw, yes!” It was clear they were not going to see much of Jett until they could commandeer the TV for movies later.

Speaking of seeing people…

“Hey, Matt, where are the old men?” Alfred asked, realizing he hadn’t seen either of them since he’d arrived.

Matthew’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You mean they’re not back yet?”

A moment of confusion passed between them.

“What do you mean, ‘not back yet’?” Alfred asked. “Where’d they go?”

“They were driving me crazy with their bickering so I told them to go out and look at Christmas lights!” Matthew explained, pulling out his phone. “Eh—wait! Maybe they’re in the house! You came straight up here didn’t you?”

“I’ll look for them!”

Alfred was gone in a flash, running through the house checking each room, with no sign of either of them. He nearly ran into Matthew the next time he ran out into the hall. “I can’t find them!”

“I’m gonna call,” Matthew decided, pulling out his phone again.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“Put it on speaker!”

Matthew huffed in extreme annoyance, but did put the phone on speaker before dialing Arthur’s number.

“Hello?” said an unmistakably British voice on the other line.

“Where are you?” Matthew demanded, the stress in his voice apparent.

“Oh, well you see,” Arthur replied, fairly calmly at first, “this bloody arsewipe got us lost!”

“That is not true!” Francis could be heard objecting.

“It is so!” Arthur insisted. “You said, ‘turn here! I know where I’m going!’”

“I did know where I was going but you didn’t listen!” Francis objected again in the background.

Matthew tried to interject before the two of them could get into a _really_ heated argument. “Can’t you look on your phone to see where you are?”

“I’m driving!” Arthur answered.

“Well, tell Francis to do it on his phone!” Matthew suggested. Firmly.

“He took my phone and he’s sitting on it and he won’t give it back!” Francis whined.

“He was—”

“Give him his phone, Arthur!” Matthew ordered so uncharacteristically sternly that there actually seemed to be a surprised silence on the other line for a moment. “Alfred’s here and I want everyone to come home so we can have a nice night together as a family! Okay? Give him the phone!”

“Hmph.” There was a moment of shuffling as Arthur dug Francis’s phone out from under his rear. “There. I gave it to him.”

“Ewwww, it’s warm!”

“Good. Now tell Francis to type in my address in the map app, and it will tell you how to come home,” Matthew said, much more calmly this time.

“He was giving me wrong directions earlier,” Arthur complained with a huff. “That’s why I took it away. You better give me the right directions this time, frog!”

“Matthieu!” Francis continued to whine in the background. “He was driving on the wrong side of the road on purpose to scare me!”

“I was not!”

“Arthur!” Matthew snapped. “Drive home! Francis, give him the right directions!” And then he hung up with an angry outward breath.

“Hey, this means when they get home, they’ll be all tired out!” Alfred said, trying to cheer his brother up with an encouraging pat on the back. The poor guy. It was clear he was doing his best to make this a good Christmas for everybody, but things just weren’t going his way. “And then you can have some peace and quiet.”

“Oh, I sure hope so, Alfred,” Matthew murmured. “They’ve been at it since they got here yesterday.”

“Hey, I know…” Alfred said, an idea forming in his head, “Why don’t we start up the fire place downstairs and I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we can sit down there with the radio tuned to the Christmas station and just relax?”

“Oh…that would be wonderful, Alfred,” Matthew sighed, slipping off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He was clearly exhausted.

Alfred got Matthew set up on the couch in front of the fireplace with some pillows and blankets in the den, then went into the kitchen to make a couple of cups of hot chocolate for them. When he was done, he went back and handed one to Matthew. Meanwhile, he set his own on the table while he went to move the gifts he’d brought out of the doorway and move them into the den to put under the Christmas tree. Since he wasn’t sure where he’d be sleeping for the night, he just left his suitcase by the door and returned to the den, where he flopped down on a lounge chair and settled in with his hot chocolate. When he was done, he set the cup on a nearby coffee table before settling down again. Matthew seemed to have already dozed off. Not a bad idea. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep himself was the first few lines of _Silent Night_ gently playing from the radio.

Some time later, Alfred was awoken by someone complaining loudly about the “bloody rubbish” he’d left in the doorway. Glancing over and seeing Matthew still asleep, Alfred decided to go shut those old men up before they woke him up with their bickering.

He found them still standing in the entryway, dusting snow off their coats and continuing to argue about whose fault the whole incident had been.

“Can you two take this somewhere else?” Alfred not so much asked as he did insist. “Matthew’s been busting his butt all day and your bickering is really stressing him out.”

“Oh, not so much as a ‘hello’, I see,” Arthur griped, hanging his coat up on a nearby hook. “Not even a ‘Merry Christmas’? He got those manners from _you,_ France.”

“Don’t turn this around on me! You raised him, _England,”_ Francis retorted, promptly moving Arthur’s coat from the hook he’d just put it on so he could spitefully put his own in its place.

“Shut up!” Alfred hissed, putting a finger to his lips. “Matthew’s asleep and I want it to stay that way! Go get a room and fight it out up there, okay?”

“Ex _cuse_ me, Alfred?” Arthur gawped, apparently appalled that Alfred would ever dare insist that he and Francis needed to ‘get a room.’

“Merry Christmas. Goodnight,” Alfred said, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned to leave. What a way to start Christmas.

As he made his way back to the den, he could hear the two of them still arguing about the situation, although a bit more quietly now.

“See? You upset them. Both of them.”

“No, that was your fault!”

“Shut up and go upstairs!”

“You first!”

Somehow, Alfred managed to tune them out and drift off into sleep.

He was awakened the next morning by Jett running down the stairs shouting exuberantly. “It’s Christmas! Christmas mornin’!”

“Be quiet, Jett!” Matthew hissed from the kitchen. “People are sleeping!”

“Not anymore,” Alfred muttered, stretching out on the chair with a groan.

“Needed to wake up anyway,” Jett said defensively. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Asleep!” Matthew hissed again. “Why don’t you come help me make breakfast?”

“Can I lick the spoon?”

“Wait!” Alfred was up and out of the chair now. “I wanna lick the spoon!”

“Hey!”

“Whoever does a better job helping me can lick the spoon!” Matthew announced.

“Deal!” Alfred and Jett said at once, both of them racing into the kitchen to help Matthew.

The three of them spent the next half hour cutting up fruit and mixing eggs and flour and butter into Matthew’s famous pancake batter. Matthew manned the stove and the other two worked on setting the table. Finishing with the table before the pancakes were done, Alfred and Jett turned to Matthew expectantly.

“Who did better?” Jett asked.

“I don’t know,” Matthew replied. “I wasn’t really watching. Sorry. One of you can lick the bowl and the other can lick the spoon. Fair?”

Alfred ended up taking the bowl and letting Jett have the spoon. Around the same time, Arthur came down the stairs, still in his sleeping clothes and night cap, and wandered groggily into the kitchen.

“Good morning, gramps,” Alfred said teasingly. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Arthur grumbled sleepily, pulling out a chair so he could sit down at the table.

“Would you like some tea, Arthur?” Matthew asked, bringing a stack of fresh pancakes to the table.

“That would be nice…” Arthur murmured.

While Matthew got to work brewing a pot of tea, Alfred and Jett started filling their plates with pancakes.

“Where’s Francis?” Alfred asked, hoping the other’s name wouldn’t instantly incite an argument.

“Still asleep,” Arthur muttered. “Like the lazy arse he is.”

A few minutes later, the Frenchman himself wandered down to the kitchen, wearing nothing but his underwear.

“Oh, bloody hell…” Arthur groaned, shielding his eyes. Alfred struggled to suppress a chuckle.

Francis, for once, helpfully ignored Arthur’s words, though he still made a point to sit right next to him at the table.

“ _Joyeux Noël_!” he sang as he helped himself to a plate of Matthew’s pancakes.

“You couldn’t at least wrap yourself in a blanket or something?” Arthur complained, side-eyeing the near naked Frenchman.

“Why?” Francis asked. “I like sleeping in my natural state.”

“You’re not sleeping anymore!”

“Aw, stop yer bickerin’,” Jett muttered through a mouthful of pancake. “It’s Christmas.”

Arthur wrinkled up his face, as if the idea of getting along with Francis was in itself repulsive, but he didn’t push the issue further.

Matthew came over with a cup of tea for Arthur, then went back to the counter to bring over another batch of pancakes before having a seat himself.

He seemed a little uncomfortable. “I’m uh…sorry I hung up on you last night,” Matthew said quietly, averting his eyes. “I was just stressed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur said, taking a sip of his tea.

“Ah, you don’t need to apologize, Matthieu!” Francis said as he poured syrup across his pancakes.

Matthew smiled softly.  “Sorry…”

“You apologized for apologizing!” Alfred pointed out.

“I’m sorr—shut up, Alfred,” Matthew said, dribbling syrup over his pancakes.

From then on, they were able to eat in relative peace. Soon, everyone was done and ready to open presents. They’d save the kitchen cleanup for later, since they’d be cooking again soon anyway.

“Who’s going first?” Alfred asked.

“I think Matthieu should go first, since he’s playing host,” Francis suggested. Everyone else nodded in agreement, except for Matthew, who shied away bashfully.

“I don’t think—”

“You’re going first, Mattie!” Alfred insisted, thrusting a present his way.

They each took turns opening presents. Alfred waited excitedly each time someone was about to open one of his. Matthew got a nice laugh out of the giant gummy bear, which his own polar bear cub had been around to see him open.

“It’s you!” Matthew exclaimed, getting the bear’s attention.

“But it’s red,” the bear pointed out.

“Close enough.”

And just as he’d thought, Jett was delighted with his new, silly hat.

“Awright!” he said as he opened the pink monstrosity. “I’m gonna wear it to my next meeting with my boss.”

“Geoffrey Ralph Smith!” Arthur scolded, pulling out Australia’s full name for added disapproval.

“Nuh-uh, gramps,” Jett said, waggling a finger as he put the hat on defiantly. “You may call me Jett or Australia. Those are yer two options.”

Arthur ignored him. “You can’t wear that to meet your boss.”

“Yer not the boss of me.”

Finally, it came time for Arthur to open his gift from Alfred, but Alfred stopped him before he could start.

“Wait!” Alfred interrupted. “I want you and Francis to open yours at the same time.”

Arthur and Francis exchanged a look.

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ to see what you’ve got in store for us,” Arthur grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alfred just smiled knowingly, eager to see their reactions. “Go on!”

As they were pulling the aprons out of the bags, Alfred heard Matthew mutter beside him, “You _didn’t.”_

Oh, but he had.

“Alfred Foster Jones!” Arthur practically shrieked in horror as he pulled a French flag patterned apron out of the bag. “You can’t possibly expect me to wear this!”

But Alfred was laughing too hard to answer. Arthur’s reaction had been even better than he’d hoped!

And it kept getting better. Rather than also erupt in anger, Francis took the joke gracefully. “Ah, my dear _Angleterre,_ you would look lovely in my flag,” he purred.

It was only then that Arthur seemed to notice that Francis had been given a similar gift, the only difference being that his sported the Union Jack.

“No!” Arthur objected as soon as his eyes landed on it. “I don’t want _my_ flag covering _your_ ugly codpiece!”

When Alfred finally managed to stop laughing, he added, “You can trade.”

“Let’s trade!” Arthur said immediately, reaching for the other apron, which Francis quickly pulled out of his reach.

“I want to see you wear it first!” Francis grinned.

“No! Absolutely not! Trade me!”

“Why don’t you both cook something out of those cookbooks you haven’t even noticed I put in the bags,” Alfred suggested, “and whoever wins decides what to do with them?”

“Alfred!” Matthew scolded him.

“Well, that’s not even a contest,” Francis bragged, flipping his hair. He pulled the book out of the bag and looked at the cover. “ _More than 200 Classic New England Recipes from Clam Chowder to Pumpkin Pie,”_ he read.

“Nonsense!” Arthur broke in. “It descended from _my_ food so obviously I can make it better!”

“Is it a bet then?” Francis challenged.

“It’s a bet!” Arthur confirmed.

Soon enough, the two of them were flipping through the books, trying to decide on a recipe

Meanwhile, Matthew handed Alfred an envelope.

“This is the last thing,” he said. “It’s for you.”

“What?” Alfred asked, confused. “But I thought I’d opened everything from all of you.”

“You did.”

Confused, Alfred opened the envelope to find a handwritten note:

_Dear Alfred,_

_I feel really bad about you having to deal with my brother for a whole week. I wish there was a way to stop this entire crisis without you having to go in like that. By the time you get this, it will be Christmas and hopefully everything will be okay. Now you get to just relax with your family. And since you’re the best friend in the world, why don’t you come relax with me at a spa sometime? You deserve it._

_Your friend,_

_Yong Soo_

Enclosed was a voucher for one of Seoul’s high end bath houses, which included all the perks from massages to hot tubs.

“When did he give this to you?” Alfred asked. “How did he get it here?”

“The same day he found out about the drills going ahead as planned,” Matthew explained. “He came up to me with the envelope and told me to save it for you. He wanted it to be a big secret I guess. Maybe he was embarrassed?”

“About asking me to go to a spa with him?” Alfred pondered that thought. “Maybe.” As he thought about it, there had been one day during the world meetings where he and Yong Soo had had a talk about him needing to go to North Korea to diffuse things. Afterwards, Yong Soo had run off in a hurry, and Alfred had later found out he had nowhere else to be that day. Now Alfred thought he knew what happened: Yong Soo must have been running off to give this to Matt between his meetings at a time when Alfred wouldn’t be around to see the exchange. It seemed like a lot of trouble, but it was the only explanation he could come up with.

After all the presents had been opened, everyone helped with the cleanup, piling wrapping paper and boxes into a trash bag so they could easily be disposed of. Alfred gathered his gifts—that game he’d been wanting from Matthew, some weird Australian candy from Jett, a book on etiquette from Arthur (well, after today, he probably deserved it), and a bottle of wine from Francis (it included a note that read “because you can’t buy it in your own country!”)—and piled them near his suitcase, which he now realized he should probably move, so he took it upstairs to an empty guest room and dumped it on the bed before heading back down to help with the cooking.

Arthur and Francis had found a simple recipe for Indian pudding in their cookbooks and were eagerly combing the kitchen for ingredients they’d need so they could get their contest out of the way. Meanwhile, Matthew was cleaning the turkey and had set Jett and Alfred to work peeling potatoes and earing corn, respectively. They spent the rest of the morning making preparations and cooking.

Halfway through, Arthur and Francis insisted that their creations be judged, so Alfred, Matthew, and Jett took a break from what they were doing and sat down at the table.

Indian pudding was a traditional New England dessert that had evolved from hasty pudding, made from cornmeal and milk mostly, and spiced up with…well, spices—and whatever else deemed necessary to make it taste good, giving the competitors a great deal of freedom. So the results would be…interesting.

Each armed with a spoon, Alfred, Matthew, and Jett sampled the two entries while Francis and Arthur waited to hear the results.

Since it was Alfred’s food, he thought he might as well give his vote first.

When he was young, he’d idolized Arthur. Even though he’d been well aware that Francis was the better cook, he’d eaten whatever Arthur served him with gusto. Arthur had been his caretaker, and Alfred had looked up to him. In those days, he never would have dreamed doing anything that might hurt Arthur.

But things had changed a lot since then. Alfred no longer felt obligated to put Arthur on that pedestal. He no longer felt obligated to say that England’s cooking was great no matter how bad it was. Today, Francis was the better cook. While Arthur’s version hadn’t been _bad,_ it was rather bland, and nowhere near as smooth or sweet as Francis’s had been.

“The Frenchie gets my vote,” he said, looking away when he caught that look of betrayal from Arthur. Francis smiled knowingly.

Next was Matthew, who must have hated the idea of choosing between the two as much as Alfred did, since he avoided looking at either of them. “Um…I guess I vote for Arthur’s?”

“Aw, you’re just giving him pity votes!” Jett broke in. “Francis wins.”

Francis grinned victoriously, while Arthur scowled beside him. “Ah, do not feel bad, _Angleterre!_ I will be sure to compliment you on how fabulous you look!”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Arthur grumbled. Francis just continued to grin.

“Come on, Arthur!” Francis insisted, bringing over the French patterned apron. “Put it on!”

“No!”

“That was the agreement! Whoever wins decides what to do with them!” Francis pressed, trying to slip the string over the other’s head. “And I decide that you wear it the rest of the time while we’re cooking!”

It took some more prodding—and maybe a little bit of wrestling—but Francis finally got Arthur to wear the thing. Then he was pulling the Union Jack one over his own head and grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

He threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Don’t we look fabulous? Take a picture!”

That, of course, got Francis a stiff elbow to the gut, but apparently he thought it had been worth it, since he was still grinning even as he slinked away like an injured cat.

By lunchtime, everything was ready, including the apple pie Alfred had promised he’d make. Everyone soon sat down for a comparatively peaceful meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, stuffing, dinner rolls, fruit salad, and apple pie.

It had basically been a whole year since Alfred had gotten to sit down and eat with family like this, since everyone celebrated Thanksgiving at different times. It was nice—especially when they could avoid bickering and talk and laugh together. They found themselves talking about mostly funny things, like the last awkward thing Germany had done, or some moment from the past summer’s World Cup.

Eventually, Alfred’s trip to North Korea was brought up.

“I don’t see why you waste your time with it,” Arthur said, begrudgingly taking a bite of pie that Alfred could tell even _he_ was mentally admitting was good. “They’re mad. The whole lot of them.”

“They asked for Americans.”

“Bollocks.”

“Did you want me to ignore them?”

“North Korea’s a maniac,” Arthur continued, ignoring Alfred’s question. “He doesn’t give a single damn about you or anyone else.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Alfred pointed out. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore him and hope a war didn’t happen?”

“I don’t think it would have,” Arthur said, taking another bite of pie. “He knows you want to play the hero. He’s in a tough spot because he won’t change his ways and no one will talk to him. No one’s feeling sorry for him and no one wants to help. So what does he do? He threatens war, knowing you’ll come to the rescue and stop him. So now people are taking notice of him again and talking to him and he’s no closer to changing because he’ll just talk his way around it. Waste of time.”

“But how is talking a bad thing?” Alfred asked, beginning to think this was the same conversation he’d had with his boss all over again. “What if talking opens him up and he starts to change?”

“You’re such an optimist,” Arthur sighed. “We’ve been trying that for sixty bloody years, Alfred, and it hasn’t worked.”

Francis, who had been silent for the entire conversation thusfar, finally gave his input. “If he really wanted to change,” he started, “he would have.”

“If he even _cared_ ,” Arthur said, accentuating the last word harshly. “If he even truly cared about his people, he should have taken the fall long ago.”

“And let South take over,” Francis finished.

Alfred felt a twinge of sadness run through him. “Are you seriously suggesting he should just—”

“Yes, Alfred, I am,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “Maybe it’s harder for younger nations like you and Matthew and Jett to see, but some nations just don’t make it. They’re not cut out for it. _He’s_ not cut out for it. He’s cheating the system. Delaying the inevitable. All at the expense of his own people.”

At that point, Matthew and Jett, who seemed to have grown a bit uncomfortable with the conversation, got up from the table and started to clean up.

Alfred was silent. It was hard to swallow, but everything Arthur and Francis had brought up were good points. North could have absolutely no desire to actually talk productively. He could have staged the whole wanting to talk thing for the attention. He could give zero fucks about his people. He could have no plans to change whatsoever.

But Alfred found that idea hard to swallow. Every nation was so in-tune with their people that even the suffering of a few of their citizens was hard to ignore. Surely North cared, at least a little.

And the idea that North cared made it even harder for Alfred to tolerate that Arthur had basically said that it would be better if North just disappeared. Maybe there was some truth in that line of thinking, but every time Alfred had thought that way in the past—about Imperial Japan, about Soviet Russia, about Vietnam—he’d regretted it. Sometimes the enemy, no matter how much Alfred hated them at the time, simply had no choice but to follow their leader’s orders. Maybe it was easier to think about destroying your enemy when they were just a faceless force you were fighting against. Maybe that was why Arthur thought this was all a waste of time. If Alfred began to see North as anything other than a faceless enemy, might it be harder for Alfred to do the best thing for the Korean people?

“He can’t be that heartless,” Alfred said finally.

But Arthur seemed to have already grown bored with the conversation and was rising to help Matthew and Jett with the cleanup. Francis, who was still seated at the table, let out a sigh.

“You just can’t save them all, Alfred.”

* * *

 

Once the mess was cleaned up, the family settled down to watch the _Christmas Story_ marathon, occasionally making snide comments about how one character or another resembled someone in their own family. Afterwards, everyone went outside briefly for a snowball fight before everyone (minus Matthew) decided it was too cold and came back in. Then it was back to movies, this time _It’s a Wonderful Life_ with a couple of bowls of popcorn.

When that was done, Alfred was beginning to feel like those warm and cozy feelings were making him just a bit _too_ warm, and it was then that he realized he probably needed to go shower. So, while everyone else flipped through the channels looking for the next movie, Alfred went down the hall to the guest room where he’d dumped his stuff and started looking through his suitcase for a change of clothes. Half the stuff in his suitcase was leftover from his trip to North Korea and just a bit too formal to wear around the house. Surely he’d packed a T-shirt or something?

He finally found one stuffed in the bottom. From there, he reached into a side pocket to grab a fresh pair of underwear and found himself pulling out a piece of paper along with it. What was this? He flipped it over and saw a series of numbers. Oh. This must have been North’s number that Alfred had gotten him to scribble down. After today’s conversation with Arthur and Francis, he was wondering how well this “hotline” idea would actually work. How did he even know the number North had given him was real? And if it was real, what was stopping North from just ignoring him?

Well, he’d never know if he never tried, so he entered the number into his contacts, setting the name as “Commie,” because why not? Then he sent a simple text message:

_Alfred: I know you probably don’t celebrate it but merry christmas!_

Then he left his phone on the bed and went to take a shower.

When he came back, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, he was surprised to find his phone screen lit up. Setting down the phone, he picked it up to check his messages. Incredibly, he’d gotten a response:

_Commie: Merry Christmas_

Maybe there was hope in the world.


	14. Communications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of the Yeonpyeong bombardment.

The family ended up staying at Matthew’s house for another two days before bidding each other farewell and going their separate ways.

Alfred returned home to the Pennsylvania countryside, tired from driving but thankful to be able to finally relax in his own home. It probably wouldn’t be long until he was called on again to go take care of something in Washington or somewhere else in the world, but the least he could do was chill in his own home until then.

For the next several days, he didn’t do much of anything. Most of his time was spent playing the game Matthew had given him— _Call of Duty: Black Ops._ It was some good ole mindless-shooter fun to take his mind off things.

And he had a surprising lot to take his mind off of. Even with his trip to North Korea over and Christmas behind him, the news stations were abuzz with conflict around the world. North and South Korea were still rattling their sabers at each other. Anti-government protests had erupted in Tunisia. Politicians in his own country were still arguing over the best way to solve the current financial crisis. He could only hope that the New Year would be better.

On New Year’s Eve day, Alfred caught a crowded train from the station in Philadelphia to New York City. No matter how busy or stressed or tired he was, he’d rarely missed a trip to New York on New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop. There was nothing better than standing in the crowd amongst his own people, chatting it up with strangers and sharing in their excitement.

From the station, he took a taxi to his apartment near Times Square, where he dumped his backpack containing a change of clothes and laptop computer. He was perfectly content to relax for a while in his room, where he had a nice view of the city, and watch the people file in for the celebrations that night. Only later, as darkness began to fall, did he leave the relative quiet of his apartment to join the masses in Times Square.

Despite getting there hours before the New Year, the place was packed, as expected, but he was just close enough to have a view of the ball. Between chatting with random people, Alfred texted other nations as the New Year arrived in their countries.

When the New Year finally reached America, Alfred joined in the countdown and subsequent cheering. There was no bigger party than the one in New York on New Year’s Eve, and of course, no place he’d rather be. The only bittersweet moment came when all the couples around him kissed, and Alfred, alone, tried to share in their happiness anyway, despite knowing that as a nation, he would likely never fall in love and raise a family like them.

He returned to his apartment in the wee hours of the morning tired, but satisfied.

Only when he’d arrived did he realize he’d forgotten to send out a New Year’s text in the midst of all the post-ball drop partying. Was it too late? He glanced at the clock.

2:48 AM, but that was for New York. It would soon be the New Year in California. So, twelve minutes later, he sent out a text to everyone in his phone’s contacts.

_Alfred: Happy new year from America!_

He didn’t wait for responses though. Instead, he just climbed into bed and called it a night.

When he awoke the next morning, he had several responses wishing him a happy New Year in return, as well as a few good-naturedly chastising him for being so behind. After all, it had been the New Year in some places for almost a whole day before it reached America.

He also had a message from Yong Soo asking when he was available to go on a bathhouse retreat with him.

_Yong Soo: you should start your new year by getting refreshed at the bathhouse with me._ _ㅡㅂㅡ_ _when are you free?_

_Alfred: idk man it’s hard work being the world’s hero_

_Alfred: i seem to be quite popular lately :D_

_Yong Soo: ……………soonish?_

_Alfred: yeah, I just gotta check with the boss. I’ll do that today._

Well, he’d get to it. Right now he had a greater concern—breakfast. He could feel the empty, sucking feeling in his gut telling him it was time to eat. After untangling himself from his sheets, Alfred went to see what, if anything, there was to eat in this place.

Due to the fact that he’d been pretty busy over the past month, he hadn’t spent much time in the New York apartment, and the only unspoiled food remaining in the residence was a box of stale Poptarts. It would have to do, Alfred thought, and he went ahead and ate them, not minding the slight chewiness as he settled down to relax for a few hours in front of the TV.

At lunchtime, he got himself dressed and went to the diner around the corner, which was still open despite the holiday in order to take advantage of the abundance of tourists. After placing his order, Alfred sat down on one of the barstools and pulled out his phone. There were no important looking emails or text messages waiting for him. Maybe it would turn out to be a quiet week? As far as he knew, he had no pending meetings or appointments. It might be his only chance to arrange this spa trip with Yong Soo. Feeling hopeful, he scrolled through his contacts for the ever-important president’s number and sent the following text:

_Alfred: sup big man, you got anything important I need to come in for in the next couple of days?_

He waited for a few minutes, during which his name was called to come pick up his food. When he returned to his seat with a classic burger and fries, his phone was buzzing with a text message:

_Brobama: Not yet, but something could always come up._

That was just vague enough that Alfred couldn’t be sure whether it was safe to go on this trip or not. He squirted some ketchup onto his plate and started munching on fries as he typed up his next message.

_Alfred: what are the chances of something big coming up?_

A few minutes later, he got another vague answer.

_Brobama: It’s hard to say._

Alfred frowned through a mouthful of burger. Oh, the struggles of being a nation! Always immersed in the politics of the world as well as his own… He rarely got to visit other nations strictly on a tourism basis. Usually, if he wanted to visit someone, he had to do it on the side as a part of a larger political visit. If he just asked if he’d be able to take a trip to South Korea, would the president suddenly come up with some business for him to take care of while he was there? Maybe Alfred could just paint the planned visit as something political in the first place…

_Alfred: I wanna take a trip to seoul to discuss some things with sk, seems better to do it in person_

_Alfred: call me if something comes up?_

He could totally discuss politics with Yong Soo in the comfort of a bath house surrounded by nude strangers! Why not? It was a subject that was bound to come up anyway, considering North Korea was still making headlines weeks after the attack that had triggered this whole mess. All Alfred was doing was some additional damage control. Surely the president would see the merit in that.

He’d made it through about half of his burger before the president finally seemed to decide the trip was okay.

_Brobama: How long will you be gone?_

_Alfred: I was thinking 4, maybe 5 days?_

_Brobama: That long?_

_Alfred: relationships with your allies are important boss._

_Alfred: besides, if there’s nothing else going on what’s the harm?_

Geez. It was like Obama was his mom or something.

Finally, after Alfred had completely finished his burger and fries, another text message came through.

_Brobama:_ _Nothing big scheduled until Hu Jintao’s visit on the 18 th. Be back before then._

With a smile, Alfred sent back:

_Alfred: roger wilco_

And now, to tell Yong Soo!

_Alfred: checked in with the boss and it seems cool so I could fly out Wednesday or something_

That would give him some more time to relax too. He wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get jetlagged again.

A moment later, his phone buzzed.

_Yong Soo: sweet see ya then!!_

The rest of the week went by uneventfully. Alfred wasn’t complaining. He’d had enough action during the last month to last him at least half a year. In the days leading up to his flight out, Alfred returned to his Pennsylvania home to relax in the quiet of the countryside. When he wasn’t playing videogames or shoveling snow off his driveway, he made trips down to the animal shelter. For the past two years, he’d managed to convince the owners he was just a local college student in need of volunteer hours for his fraternity. So far, they’d bought it, despite the fact that he always showed up alone and never with his supposed frat brothers. It didn’t matter though. They got some free labor and Alfred got to play with puppies.

After three days of video games and walking dogs in the woods, Alfred was ready to fly out to Korea. He’d packed for five days, but he was sure Yong Soo wouldn’t mind letting him use the washing machine if by some miracle he got to stay longer. Alfred boarded his plane that afternoon, popped in his earbuds, and settled down for a long flight.

Fourteen hours and a big time change later, Alfred was in line with Yong Soo for coffee.

They hadn’t even left the airport yet.

“Nothing like a cuppa joe at four in the afternoon, huh?” Alfred said groggily. He’d been asleep when the plane landed.

“You know how it is here, Alfred,” Yong Soo said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. He was all smiles, as usual. “People here drink coffee all day long! You fit right in.”

After getting their coffee, the two nations went straight out to the parking lot to find Yong Soo’s car. Being so crowded, it was unlikely they would have found a place to sit inside the airport anyway. It was better to just get out and get home a little sooner.

An hour or so of fighting traffic later, the pair finally managed to park on the street about a block away from Yong Soo’s Seoul apartment. When they got upstairs, Yong Soo helped Alfred get his stuff settled down in the guest room and waited patiently while Alfred got changed into a fresh set of clothes.

When he was all changed, the two of them relocated to the couch in front of the TV. Yong Soo, being a very _dynamic TV_ viewer, was thoroughly invested in the drama that was currently playing. Though Alfred had no idea what was going on, Yong Soo’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Alfred couldn’t help but laugh every time a plot twist sent the Korean into a series of loud gasps or objections.

After a few episodes, the plot seemed to deviate away from the constant, shocking revelations and settle into an even tone. Now, sitting in near silence with the lack of excitement, Yong Soo seemed to grow restless. Something was clearly on his mind.

“So, uh…” Yong Soo began. “You haven’t really told me about your trip yet.”

“Yes, I have,” Alfred said. “I told you while we were in line for coffee!”

“No!” Yong Soo objected, turning to look at Alfred. “I meant the North Korea trip. How was it?”

Alfred hesitated. There were a lot of things that could be said about that trip, but no one word really summed it up. Had it been successful? Well, Korea wasn’t at war, so maybe. But had anything really changed? As far as he knew, no.

“I mean…it was okay, I guess,” he said, toying with his glasses as he tried to figure out how he could elaborate. “It wasn’t _good._ It was frustrating. We’d talk with them all day and at the end of it they’d kind of just nod and say, ‘we’ll think about it.’ And then we’d wake up the next day and do it all again. But you’re not at war so…”

Yong Soo was watching him intently. Alfred got the feeling that the Korean was looking for something more descriptive. After all, this was his country and his future they were talking about here. “Uh, maybe you should ask about specifics.”

Yong Soo was silent for a moment, his eyes flitting to the TV as he thought. “How’s my brother?” he asked finally, his eyes still fixed to the television.

Alfred glanced over at the other, trying to get a read on him, but the Korean’s face was unreadable, his eyes blankly watching the moving figures on the screen. What was it North had said? Something about Yong Soo telling him he was unfit to be a nation? _You don’t know that side of him,_ Alfred remembered North saying. If Yong Soo really had said those things, surely he hadn’t meant them. Or if he did mean them, surely he didn’t mean that North should disappear, or else he wouldn’t be asking about how North was doing now, would he?

“He seemed fine to me,” Alfred answered after a pause. “But I guess I probably don’t know him as well as you do.”

“Hm,” Yong Soo simply grunted in response, his eyebrows drawing together.

Alfred frowned. “Are you okay?”

Yong Soo was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s just…the North Koreans have been asking and asking to talk ever since you guys got back. We finally rejected them today.”

Alfred stared.

“Why?” Alfred asked, a note of concern sneaking into his voice. It seemed like such a step backwards! If the North Koreans were ready to talk, then why shouldn’t they? All that work trying to get the two Koreas to talk, and then it was the _South_ Koreans that didn’t want to!

“Because he’s not _sincere,_ Alfred,” Yong Soo answered, finally turning to look back at Alfred, his eyes serious. “It’s all propaganda. He’s only offering because he wants to look cordial. If we did actually talk, it would just be more of the stuff that you went through.”

Despite being all too familiar with the frustration of dealing with the evasive North Koreans, something about this conversation still didn’t sit well with Alfred. “You should at least try,” he said. “What harm would it do to try?”

Yong Soo seemed to grow more agitated. “It rewards him for bad behavior,” the Korean grumbled, voice low. “Alfred, he _attacked_ my people. He talks about how he’s so afraid I’ll attack him, but who is it who ever actually _does_ that?” Yong Soo’s voice grew louder. “It’s him, Alfred! He bombs a civilian area and then tries to make himself out to be the victim? We can’t just go and talk after he does something like that!”

“Yong Soo…” Alfred sighed, unable to find the right words.

Part of him agreed with Yong Soo. If someone attacked his own country, would Alfred be eager to negotiate with them? No! Of course not. After all, Alfred prided himself on not negotiating with terrorists. North _had_ hurt people, and despite all North said about self-defense, Alfred still had a hard time believing the attack had been completely and totally reactionary. It made him angry. Why would North go and do these things when there were better ways to get attention? Ways that didn’t hurt people? If it had been Alfred’s people, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk either.

But there was something else about this situation that didn’t make it so black and white. Someone in North Korea had made the conscious decision to fire upon a civilian-inhabited island, and that was unacceptable. But there were thousands—millions of people in the same country who had played no part in that decision. And it was no secret that North had a problem feeding his people. A big part of that was because he was so isolated. No friends, no allies, no consistent trade partners. Among nations, he was a social reject, an outcast. But here he was, making an effort to reach out—and effort that could, in the long run, have some sort of benefit for his people. Just the simple act of talking. It wasn’t a contract, it wasn’t a condonation of his behavior. It was just an offer to talk.

And _something_ about his conversations with North told him that this wasn’t purely a part of some propaganda campaign.

“What if he wasn’t okay?” Alfred asked, finally figuring out what point it was that he wanted to make. “What if he needed help and this was the only way he could tell you?” Considering the brothers did not have each other’s phone numbers, had no emergency hotline, and probably couldn’t send snail mail across the border, Alfred did not feel like his assumption was unrealistic in the least.

“You said he seemed fine, so it doesn’t matter,” Yong Soo replied coldly, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“But what if he wasn’t?”

Yong Soo looked back at the TV in silence. For a while, Alfred thought he just wasn’t going to answer, and was about to give up when Yong Soo started speaking again.

“I still would have said no,” he said, softly this time. “I don’t care how much he’s hurting. I don’t want to talk to him until he takes responsibility for the things he’s done.”

That wasn’t the answer Alfred was hoping to hear, but at that point, it was probably best to drop the conversation until later. So, after about a minute of silence, he changed the subject. “Hey, I’m starting to get kinda hungry. McDonald’s delivers, right?”

“That’s right,” Yong Soo replied, beginning to perk up a bit. “You want your usual, or do you want to try something new today?”

Despite being a total McManiac, Alfred still had not met his goal of trying everything on the McDonald’s menu in every country, in part because he grew so attached to a certain few menu items. In South Korea, his favorite was the Double Bulgogi Burger, a Korea exclusive.

“Uh…you wanna pull up the menu for me on your phone?” Alfred decided. “I can’t remember everything that’s on it here.”

In the end, he settled on a Double Deluxe Shrimp Burger, which he had never tried before, and Garlic Butter Fries, a favorite ever since he’d started getting McDonald’s in Korea. Yong Soo meanwhile, ordered a very tame regular cheeseburger, having tried most of the things on the menu already.

The two spent the rest of the night munching on fast food and playing Mario Kart. For an added twist, Yong Soo suggested they raise the stakes—five races, best three out of five wins, and the loser has to drink a shot glass full of Sriracha.

Alfred could feel the burning in his stomach well into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I don't feel like a lot happened in this chapter and I'm sorry about that. I wanted to write a shorter chapter in hopes of getting it out faster. I also spent a lot of time figuring out how to dance around some of the touchier topics in the second half. I definitely want to handle these things tactfully, as I know North Korea in general can be a pretty touchy subject. If I'm ever not handling these things with tact, please let me know how you think I should change it.
> 
> \- roger wilco: This is American radio lingo meaning "Roger, will comply." It's just a fancy way of saying yes.
> 
> \- Coffee culture is really big in Korea. Like, really big.
> 
> \- McDonald's really does deliver in Korea. And I actually did go on the McDonald's website to figure out what the differences were in the Korean and American menus... The Korean menu is much smaller, but includes things that I can't believe aren't on the American menu (a Cajun burger? but it's not on the American menu?).


	15. Jolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains non-graphic descriptions of nudity and some light gore.

Alfred still wasn’t sure how he felt about being here.

The inside of the _jjimjilbang_ was something akin to the lobby of a high class New York hotel. Highly polished stone floors gleamed up at him from under his feet. Anything that wasn’t made of stone was made of a deep red wood, also polished. The modern lighting gave everything a soft, inviting glow that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Nothing about the place seemed to suggest that he was anywhere but a contemporary resort hotel.

But as Yong Soo handed off the voucher to the lady at the front desk, Alfred was reminded that he was essentially about to strip naked in front of a bunch of strangers.

Yong Soo did not seem troubled by this at all, turning back to Alfred with a pair of keys and a couple of pairs of sauna clothes. “Okay, let’s go!”

Yong Soo led Alfred around the corner and through a door marked 남—men. The Korean removed his shoes, and Alfred, taking all his cues from the native here, did the same. They stowed their footwear in little lockers which matched the numbers on the keys they’d been given, then moved through the door to the next room.

…Which turned out to just be another locker room. Why have separate lockers for shoes and clothes? It didn’t make sense, but Alfred didn’t feel like he had a right to question it. Spas weren’t even a thing guys did in his country. How could he be expected to understand it?

Yong Soo handed Alfred one of the sets clothes he’d picked up at the front desk. “Don’t put them on yet. Just put them in your locker for now.”

“Why do we even have these?”

“Just take your clothes off, Alfred.”

“Oo-oooh,” Alfred sang in a jokingly seductive tone. “I see how it is.”

But the truth was, he was a little uncomfortable. It was one thing to be naked in front of a bunch of strangers he would never see again. But to be naked in front of one of his best friends? Every time he saw Yong Soo now he was going to think about what he looked like under his clothes. Would he ever be able to see Yong Soo the same way after this? He glanced over at the Korean.

The quickness with which Yong Soo was stripping down made him think he was just being a big baby about the whole thing. The Korean was clearly not shy about this at all.

Determined to not be made a fool of, Alfred started by pulling off his shirt before moving on to his pants and underwear, making a point to keep from looking in Yong Soo’s direction the whole time. The last thing he needed was for Yong Soo to notice his embarrassment.

Once he’d pulled off the last of his clothes, Alfred stuffed them into the locker he’d been assigned, only remembering just as he was about to close the door to take off his glasses as well. When everything was stowed away, he went to Yong Soo to retrieve the key, which the Korean handed over as soon as he saw him approach. The key was tied to an elastic strap so that it could be worn on the wrist, so Alfred slipped that on too. Once Yong Soo had put away his things, he turned back to Alfred.

“You’re not really friends until you’ve seen each other naked, right?” the Korean grinned, just as Alfred realized once again how awkward he felt. He was so exposed, just standing there with the air blowing against places it normally didn’t, things hanging out that really _shouldn’t,_ the bit of chub that hugged his middle and hid that six pack everyone _thought_ he had flapping out for everyone to see… Suddenly he felt very, very self-conscious.

“Yeah…!” he agreed hesitantly, keeping his eyes on Yong Soo’s face and hoping the Korean wouldn’t notice how _hard_ he was trying to avoid looking _down._

He may have taken a peek anyway.

Yong Soo didn’t seem to care though, and just smiled and led Alfred along through the next door.

The next room was a community shower, made of the same dark, polished stone that the lobby had been. It was lit dimly, just light enough to illuminate the shower areas. The showerheads were dispersed among smaller, sectioned off areas with a few showerheads each, supposedly so groups of friends could all shower together without having to interact too much with strangers. A cabinet near the door held neatly folded towels as well as soap, shampoo, and individually packaged sponges. There were even disposable toothbrushes and tiny tubes of toothpaste.

“First, you have to wash,” Yong Soo said, grabbing a towel and bathing supplies from the cabinet. “…Everything. To keep the pools from getting dirty, you know?”

Following Yong Soo’s lead, Alfred grabbed some bathing supplies for himself and followed the Korean to the showers, where he took what must have been the most thorough shower of his life. Yong Soo assured him that he had to wash _literally_ everything, from behind his ears and between his toes to the area between his butt cheeks (surely, _surely_ Yong Soo was just toying with him). Despite his doubts, he did it anyway, scrubbing away with the sponge for most of his body and just using his hand for more _sensitive_ areas. It took all his willpower to keep from looking over at Yong Soo. Geez. Yong Soo had clearly done this a thousand times and had no problem with being naked in the presence of his friend, but Alfred was still having a hard time with it. Eventually, he did glance over, just long enough to notice how muscular Yong Soo actually was. It made sense. Lots of military training tended to make a person stronger after all. When Alfred noticed that he’d been looking for just a tad too long, he quickly averted his eyes again. He just tried to stay focused on washing himself, and soon he was as soft and pink as a baby.

When they were finished, they dried off and returned their bathing supplies before grabbing a couple of fresh towels and heading off to the next room, where four large baths bubbled and steamed, one in each corner. Each bath had a fountain on one side—a statue of various fish, toads, and turtles—dribbling water down into the pool. The walls were covered in large, elegant murals, while the floor was an intricate mosaic of colorful stones that had been arranged in a variety of looping patterns that seemed to swirl and bubble like the water in the pools. Despite the presence of several other spa-goers, it was quiet, everyone perfectly content to relax in silence.

Alfred and Yong Soo chose an empty pool and lowered themselves in, letting the bubbles and heat ease away the tension in their muscles. Alfred couldn’t help but think about how in his own country, this activity would be considered unmanly. But why? The mere act of sitting in what was essentially a large Jacuzzi bath? If more people would just try it, Alfred thought, surely the girly connotation wouldn’t stick. After all, it really was making Alfred feel more relaxed. Why should only girls be able to relax like this?

He wasn’t sure how long they soaked there, but sometime later, Yong Soo nudged Alfred out of his trance to bring him along to the next activity.

“You don’t have to do this,” Yong Soo said as they approached a door leading off from the bathing area.

Alfred already wasn’t too keen on doing anything that started with that particular sentence, but Yong Soo hadn’t exactly said _what_ it was that he didn’t have to do yet.

“It’s a body scrub,” Yong Soo continued, imitating a scrubbing motion with his hand. “They scrub all the dead skin cells off your body. You’ll feel like a baby’s bottom when they’re done with you.”

Well, that couldn’t be so bad, could it?

Oh, how wrong he was.

Alfred was now face down on a padded table in a small room with one of the bath house attendants. Yong Soo had gone off to a different room, supposedly to do the same thing.

Or maybe he was standing outside the door, snickering quietly every time Alfred yelped or complained.

He’d agreed to the body scrub, not realizing how much it would _hurt_. Even for someone like him, who’d had limbs blown off, been shot more times than he could count, and died and resurrected so many times he wasn’t sure which “life” he was even on anymore—it hurt more than he’d like to admit.

The attendant doing the scrubbing, Mr. Lee, seemed very proud of his skin scrubbing abilities—and he made sure to give Alfred the most thorough treatment possible. Mr. Lee scrubbed everything—from the back of his neck to the bottom of his feet and even between his legs— _hard._ It was like having sandpaper taken to his skin, and every time Mr. Lee hit a sensitive area, Alfred flinched, squirmed, and winced, despite how hard he was trying not to. Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of exactly what he was being rid of—tiny, rice shaped rolls of dead, gray skin. It was honestly disgusting. But Yong Soo hadn’t lied, and by the end of it, he was indeed as soft as a baby’s bottom.

Finally, Alfred felt like he had been as thoroughly cleansed as a person could possibly be, and Yong Soo showed him back to the locker room, where they changed into the clothes they’d been given by the front desk. The clothes somewhat resembled scrubs, like the nurses might wear in a hospital, but were much softer. They were also orange, which Alfred felt made them look like they were in a prison rather than a spa, but he didn’t mention it to Yong Soo.

Once they were all dressed, they walked back through the shower and bathing area to a large, open communal area where people of all genders gathered in their orange scrubs. The floor was highly polished wood, arranged in a checkerboard pattern that almost made it seem woven. Against one wall were four igloo shaped sauna rooms, each decorated with an elaborate mosaic of colorful rocks and labelled with a different temperature. A waterfall babbled in one of the corners, surrounded by small trees and statues of different animals and Korean mythological figures. Against another wall was a series of man-sized cubby holes, which spa patrons could crawl into for a nap. Branching off from the communal area on one side was a room labelled as a movie room, and on the other, a restaurant.

“I know where I’m going next,” Alfred smiled, grabbing Yong Soo’s arm to pull him towards the restaurant.

The two ended up getting a large bowl of _patbingsu,_ shaved ice topped with sweet bean paste, fruit, whipped cream, and all sorts of other goodies. Nevermind that it was January—it was warm enough in the building that frozen treats had suddenly become a viable option. They sat on a pair of cushions at a low table with a pair of spoons and their dessert in the middle.

“So, are we real friends yet?” Alfred asked, digging out a spoonful of ice and syrupy goodness with his spoon. “We’ve seen each other naked, we’ve bathed together, and now we’re sharing a bowl of ice cream like a couple of high school sweethearts.”

Yong Soo nearly choked on a spoonful of fruit and whipped cream. “We’re only sharing because there’s so much!”

“I know,” Alfred replied with a grin, going back in for another scoop of ice and fruit. “But I wanted to see how you’d react to that.”

Was that red on Yong Soo’s cheeks?

The Korean cleared his throat. “Why don’t you tell me how you’re enjoying it so far? –The spa I mean. It was my gift to you after all.”

Alfred decided that, despite how uncomfortable he was at first, this had turned out to be a pretty good day so far. “I won’t lie, I was kind of nervous at first. Spas are kind of a girl thing in my country.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Yong Soo said through a mouthful of fruit. “I promise I won’t find you any less manly after this.”

“I would hope not!” Alfred said, wiping a stray glob of whipped cream off the side of his mouth. “Anyway, it has been really relaxing. I feel all pink and fresh.”

He really was pinker than when he’d come in.

“Well, there’s still more to do,” Yong Soo explained. “There’s the saunas, massages, a movie room… No rush of course.”

They ended up hitting the saunas next. With some further reflection, Alfred decided it probably would have been better to do the saunas first, _then_ ice cream. The saunas, besides having different temperatures, also had different interiors. Each had a floor covered by a different mineral—clay, salt, or jade—and walls decorated to match the atmosphere. They smelled earthy and alive, despite the fact that if a person stayed in one long enough, it would start to feel like a little piece of hell. Eventually, Alfred had had enough of the heat and got Yong Soo to go with him to the fourth sauna, which was actually a cold room. Once their sweat had evaporated and their skin started to rise in goosebumps, they left and found space on the floor of the common area, where other spa patrons had settled down for naps.

Actually, a nap sounded pretty good.

The side of the room with the cubbies had a few spaces vacant, so the two of them crawled into adjacent compartments for a nap. They were in no hurry to do anything after this, so what harm could a few extra hours sleep do? The floor was covered by only a thin mat, but Alfred was relaxed enough that he didn’t have any trouble drifting off.

* * *

 

The air was filled with smoke, blowing down from the higher inland ground, where fires still burned from napalm canisters and artillery fire that had been meant to clear the way for the American troops. It had seemed like a good idea in theory. Now it was just an annoyance, bringing choking fumes down to the beach and blocking out Alfred’s view of the enemy.

And as far as warfighting went, being able to see your enemy was just a little important.

Alfred clung to the ladder above the beach, safe, for the moment, below the seawall from the gunfire spraying down from the hills above. Less safe, above, young men barely 19 and 20 were popping up over the seawall and taking off towards the enemy, guns ready.

There was a chatter of machine gun fire and the young soldier above Alfred on the ladder went down in a spray of blood, tumbling off the ladder to the sand below.

Alfred’s heart clenched with grief. He hadn’t even known his name, but the boy had been one of Alfred’s people nonetheless, fighting for the freedom of a country that wasn’t even his because he’d believed every country deserved to have it. It made Alfred’s blood boil to see his life cut short so quickly, and by an enemy that was concealed in the haze of the smoldering fires nonetheless.

A few seconds later, Alfred had scaled the ladder and flopped down face first at the top, pressing himself down as close to the ground as he could before starting to crawl. He peered through the smoke, waiting and watching until, finally, he could just see the flashes from the machine gun through the haze.

As more troops made it to the top of the seawall, Alfred got to his feet and made a run for it, aiming to run around the side, take out the gunner, and prevent any more unnecessary deaths.

But, as he got closer, it became clear that it would not be so simple.

As he approached, Alfred saw that it was not just one gunner in the machine gun nest, but several. And on top of that, he saw the gunners were actually defending a huge gun—a Soviet howitzer—aimed down at the soldiers scaling the seawall and the landing boats beyond. The gun went off, jolting backwards and shaking the ground with the force of the blast.

But he had to go in. If not him, then some young men with their whole lives ahead of them would, and there was no reason for them to die when Alfred could take several bullets before going down. After adjusting his grip on his rifle and making one last check to ensure it was loaded, he was charging at the gunners, firing at the nest, hoping to hit at least one of them as they poked their heads above the makeshift sandbag shelter they’d built for protection.

Something struck him in the knee and he felt his leg buckle beneath him as the pain shot up and down his leg in waves. He stumbled, hands planting on the ground in front of him to keep from getting a face full of dirt. _No, no, no—not now,_ he thought, willing his body to heal the shattered joint _faster,_ to pull the bone fragments back into place and regenerate the destroyed ligaments _._ He needed to go, but all he could do was pick up his gun, hunker down, and shoot at anything that didn’t look friendly. _Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,_ he thought.

Another thirty seconds and Alfred deemed the leg acceptable to support his weight, and he was up and running again. By now, many of his own soldiers had caught up and several seemed to have their eyes on the machine gunners as well. Someone yelled to look out, and Alfred caught a glimpse of a grenade soaring through the air, landing and bouncing expertly into the nest, and half a second later it was gone, the guns silenced for good.

But there was something else. More enemies rushing towards them on foot to take over where their comrades had left off. Alfred saw one pulling the pin on a grenade, only to fall to a rifle shot before he’d gotten the chance to properly throw it. It rolled—a dark, grooved egg shape against the sooty brown of the ground—several yards toward the Americans, and Alfred knew it was too late to run—

The blast hurled him backwards, slamming him to the ground with a few more piece of metal stuck in him than he’d had before. Again, his body was quick, and the shrapnel was expelled by the shifting tissues and the wounds began to close up in mere seconds. More worrisome, however, was the ringing in his ears, the blurry vision, and the slow, spinning daze that he seemed to be stuck in. Had it really been only seconds, or had he been killed and was in the process of reviving? Alfred struggled to his feet, swaying as his body struggled to determine which direction was up and which was down.

As he steadied, he glanced around, trying to survey the damage. There were bodies strewn around him, friends and foes alike, but just how many were Americans? He tried to count, seeing one, two—

The breath was punched out of him and he felt himself rocked back again, his legs struggling to keep him upright. What now? He struggled to make his eyes focus, but eventually he was able to make out the shape of a man in front of him. A strange pressure gripped his chest, and Alfred finally realized he was, in fact, being stabbed by the bayonet on the end of the man’s rifle. With a rough shove, Alfred threw the man off of him, the pressure almost instantly relieved as the bayonet was pulled out. He gasped for air, but he was not dead yet.

This seemed to come as a surprise to the soldier who had stabbed him as well. As Alfred’s vision returned, he could see the soldier staring at him in confusion.

They locked eyes, and Alfred just about had a heart attack.

Yong Soo? But no, it couldn’t be. Yong Soo was still in Pusan, holding down the perimeter, fighting for his very existence with his back to the ocean and the near entirety of the North Korean army trying to break through his defenses. No, Alfred was fighting _for_ the sprightly Korean boy with the gleaming smile and the messy hair and the unbreakable resolve that kept him fighting even with things at their bleakest—not against him. No, Yong Soo couldn’t be here, at Incheon, wearing the wrong uniform and fighting against Alfred and—

Recognition seemed to click in both nation’s eyes—right as an impacting artillery shell sent them both sprawling.

Alfred was unhurt, but still shaky from the impact. He rolled over, trying to get a grasp on his surroundings. Where had his gun gone? He saw it, a few feet away, near North, who was also reaching frantically for his. It was now a race. Alfred’s hand shot out, he had a grip on the weapon, he just had to pull it into his grip and point and shoot, end this all before it started, put down the rogue twin and give Yong Soo a chance—

But as he looked up to aim, he was already staring down the barrel of a Soviet SKS, North on the other end with bloodlust in his eyes. There was no hesitation. Alfred could see the second the decision was made and—

He jolted awake with the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears. He was drenched in sweat—he was sure from the dream and not the temperature of the room. His heart was still pounding a thousand miles a minute, and he was suddenly paranoid that maybe Yong Soo in the compartment next to him had heard all the commotion he was making and would come to check on him. And what would he say? That he’d dreamed he was late to a meeting or something? Yeah, that could work…

He laid back down, knees to his chest, trying to control his breathing. _Breathe, breathe, breathe…_

To his relief, Yong Soo never came, and Alfred was glad he didn’t. He was almost too shaken to speak. It had been years, _decades_ since he’d dreamed about the Korean War. And this had been too accurate to even be described as a dream. It was too real. The events were exactly the same. The soldier above him on the ladder, the machine gun nest, his shattered knee—all of it, every single event right up until the end, with only one crucial difference:

North never shot him at Incheon.

It had been the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Incheon took place in September of 1950. After the start of the war in June of that year, the North Koreans had quickly swept down the peninsula, capturing Seoul within three days and driving the South Koreans all the way to the tip of the peninsula, where they set up a perimeter around the city of Pusan. A daring invasion was staged by the UN forces at Incheon to cut off the North Korean supply lines and provide easy access to Seoul. It was successful and is widely considered the turning point of the war.


	16. Change

The dream continued to bother Alfred for the next several days. Any time there was a free moment, he caught himself thinking about it, the last moments before he woke up playing in his head, over and over.

Why would he have dreamed everything exactly as it had happened only to dream that it had ended differently than it actually had? Was it paranoia that North had no desire to make peace and would betray him and South at the next available opportunity? Was it guilt over the fact that it had actually been Alfred who shot North that day? Was it a vision of the future?

Well, it couldn’t be the last one, Alfred decided, since the dream had clearly been accurate to an event that had already occurred.

Whatever the cause, he was incredibly bothered by the whole ordeal. Alfred hadn’t dreamed of the Korean War in decades. So, why now? And why in such a gruesome way? Every time he thought about the dream, he thought about the one crucial difference between the dream and reality.

No, North hadn’t shot Alfred that day—it had been Alfred who had shot North. Alfred had gotten to his gun first. He’d taken aim.

And hesitated.

Why? Because he could have saved them both. He could have insisted all of Korea be under his supervision instead of letting Russia take North. He could have made sure those ideologies never mixed. He could have made sure there was no war to begin with. But he could see North pulling his gun around and there was no hesitation in his eyes.

So, he’d pulled the trigger and splattered North’s blood across the dust. He’d thought, “Don’t get up,” because it was easier to live with the thought of North being dead for good than being faced with his failure every time he saw him. Maybe Alfred could have saved them both, but by pulling the trigger he’d chosen Yong Soo.

Despite how heavily it was weighing on him, he couldn’t bring himself to discuss the dream with Yong Soo. Yong Soo was upset enough about the things his brother had done—he certainly didn’t need Alfred talking to him about another that hadn’t actually happened. Besides, Yong Soo was so happy to have Alfred with him, just enjoying the city. So, he kept quiet about it, unwilling to ruin the fun. Yong Soo had been having a hard time finding it lately, and Alfred hated seeing him down.

The two spent the next few days simply enjoying all that Seoul had to offer. Alfred, having been to Seoul enough times to have seen most of the tourist attractions, had Yong Soo show him what he liked to do for fun.

They spent much of their time in the great variety of themed cafés, hitting the cat café one day and the board game café the next. Between cafés, they would spend a few hours in one of the many _PC bangs_ trying out new games or watching movies. They could have been two guys just hanging out on the weekend. Politics were rarely mentioned. It was almost as if, for a few days, they’d become human.

Well, except for the constant thoughts about the dream. Alfred _needed_ to get them out, but he knew he couldn’t bother Yong Soo with them. And yet, he couldn’t talk to anyone else about them either. No one else was going to understand.

Except, maybe—well…

One night, after Yong Soo had gone to bed, Alfred lay under the sheets in the guest room, his phone filling the tiny room with a soft, blue light.

God. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was stupid, but he was desperate. He spent a long time thinking before finally typing a message into his phone.

_Alfred: hey can I ask u something?_

He waited a few minutes and—

_Commie: It’s late, but yes._

Alfred took a deep breath before he started typing again. This could end so terribly.

_Alfred: do u remember Incheon?_

His thumb hovered over the send button for what seemed like an eternity. He grimaced, giving the message one last read over before finally pressing send.

Several minutes passed with no answer. Great! He’d pissed North off already. But finally, his phone buzzed in his hand.

_Commie: I told you not to abuse this number._

_Alfred: no wait! just listen for a sec._

_Commie: What?_

Alfred hesitated again, realizing he hadn’t expected to get this far. How much was he going to tell North? They weren’t exactly friends, but he was the only other person on the planet who had shared his experience that day. And he needed to get it out.

_Alfred: I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately_

_Commie: That’s nice._

_Alfred: I wasn’t done GOSH CALM DOWN._

_Commie: Hurry up then. You take forever to type._

_Alfred: I’m THINKING now listen!_

The words were practically falling onto the screen now as he hurried to say what he needed to say before North got impatient again.

_Alfred: so like I had a dream about it the other night and it’s really been gnawing at me and I thought you could relate. it was rly weird because I never dream about this sort of stuff but it was accurate to the real thing right up until the end but like_

He paused again. Was North really sore over Incheon, still? Things like this really did numb with time for nations, and Alfred didn’t take his _own_ deaths too personally, especially in wartime. But North? Who had made it exceedingly clear at every available opportunity how much he hated Alfred and how much he blamed him for everything? And Alfred just expected to sit down and have a conversation about it? Oh man, he fucked up, he realized. He shouldn’t have tried in a million years to talk to North about this, but he was in too deep by now. He’d already been sitting there for several seconds typing nothing, and North was surely getting impatient again. He had to put something down.

_Alfred: it didn’t end that way. I didn’t do it._

He stopped there. North didn’t need to know _why_ he didn’t do it. Maybe thinking Alfred had been merciful out of the goodness of his heart would put him in a better mood anyway.

Several minutes went by again without an answer. Outstanding. He’d really done it now. Not only had he brought up something he shouldn’t have, but now he’d probably ruined his chances of North ever answering a text from him again. In fact, he probably hadn’t gotten an answer because North was trying to figure out how to block his number.

But finally:

_Commie: I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make._

_Alfred: I guess…I wasn’t trying to make one really. it was just kinda weird to dream about it again and then have it play out differently u know?_

This time, North hadn’t answered after ten minutes, and Alfred was sure he was being ignored.

_Alfred: can I just ask u one thing? I promise I’ll leave u alone after this._

_Commie: What?_

_Alfred: do u ever have dreams about that kinda stuff?_

There was a short pause, but it seemed to be a question North was willing to answer.

_Commie: …Yes._

_Alfred: well…ok. I kind of just realized I made it sound like do u dream about stuff like Incheon but I MEANT do u dream about that kind of stuff but then things are different?_

_Commie: No._

_Alfred: ok then. sorry I know this was kinda weird but thanks for listening._

He almost typed “goodnight,” and then he realized North probably didn’t know he was in Korea. Or maybe he did—Alfred had no idea how good North’s spy network might be, after all. But for now, Alfred was going to pretend like he was still in the U.S.

_Alfred: I guess it’s night where u are so goodnight!_

_Commie: And good morning to you._

Alfred set the phone down on the desk next to the bed. Well…it hadn’t gone as badly as it could have. Talking to someone else about the dream _had_ made him feel a bit better, but he still hadn’t gotten to talk about why the dream had bothered him so much. Maybe he’d be able to tell Mattie or someone when he got home…

* * *

 

The next day, the day Alfred was scheduled to fly home, he and Yong Soo got their morning coffee at a famous coffee shop where some Korean drama had once been filmed. It was in a (relatively) quiet part of Seoul, situated atop a hill surrounded by trees, with a balcony overlooking the metropolis.

The coffee was overpriced and only average in taste, but Alfred knew he was really here for the experience. All around him couples were re-enacting scenes from the drama (which Alfred had already forgotten the name of), taking selfies, and enjoying the scenic overlook.

Yong Soo, though Alfred was sure he’d been here a thousand times, was delighted to share the experience with Alfred. The Korean towed Alfred throughout the shop, eagerly pointing out where various events had transpired.

“And this is where they had their first kiss… And ooh! Here’s where she revealed to him that—”

“Yong Soo, I haven’t even seen this drama!”

Yong Soo let out a gasp. “What? But I was sure you had! Didn’t we watch it last time you were over?”

“No, that was _Coffee Prince!”_

The Korean seemed a bit annoyed to discover this, but he shrugged and took it all in stride. “I guess next time you come over we’ll just have to marathon it. And I guess I should stop talking too because I’ve probably spoiled half of it for you by now.”

“Nah, man, it’s okay,” Alfred assured him, grinning as he prepared to tease the other. “All your dramas have the same plot anyway.”

“What?” Yong Soo cried, falling for the bait perfectly. “No they don’t!”

“Yes, they do! Boy meets girl, parents don’t approve, but they’re so in love so they—”

“No they don’t!”

“I’m just joking!” Alfred laughed. He took a sip of his coffee, the beautiful heart design that had originally floated at the top now long since destroyed. “But you gotta admit—a lot of them really do run with the same themes.”

“Yeah…” Yong Soo conceded. “But so do your sitcoms.”

Alfred simply shrugged. “Someone’s always willing to watch them. That’s why there are always sitcoms on American television.”

“And dramas on Korean television,” Yong Soo agreed.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence, enjoying their coffee. Or, at least, Alfred was. Yong Soo’s silence seemed anything but relaxed. He stared into his coffee, stirring it absent-mindedly with his spoon the way he often did when he was deep in thought, seemingly lost in the vortex that formed. Finally, Yong Soo spoke.

“I feel like my life’s a drama,” he said softly, giving a weary laugh and pressing the heel of his palm into one of his eyes. “But you just can’t write that kind of thing. China, Japan, North... How did I end up with such a dysfunctional family?”

Alfred was at a loss for words. What could he say that would be in any way comforting? ‘Everyone feels that way about their family?’ No, that was too invalidating. Alfred couldn’t even claim to understand how Yong Soo felt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alfred asked instead, hoping maybe talking about it would help him alleviate some stress.

“I…not here,” Yong Soo replied, glancing at the people who passed them to go out to the balcony. “Let’s finish up first.”

The two of them finished the last of their coffee before grabbing their coats and heading outside. The street leading up to the coffee shop wound up and around the hill it was situated on and was flanked by snow-laden trees on either side, giving it a more isolated feel compared to the rest of Seoul. It was perfect for a conversation Yong Soo clearly wasn’t comfortable having in the presence of others, even in English.

“So…you still wanna talk about it?” Alfred prompted after they were sufficiently out of earshot of the coffee shop.

Yong Soo glanced around to make sure no one was coming up the path. “Yeah…” he started, seemingly unsure. “I just…I don’t understand why my family’s like this.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I must sound so whiney.”

“No, no!” Alfred assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If you need to talk, you need to talk.”

Yong Soo nudged Alfred’s hand away, and Alfred stuffed it back into his jacket pocket to shield it from the cold. For a moment, he thought Yong Soo was going to end the conversation there. The pair continued down the path, but a few minutes into their trek, Yong Soo continued.

“Japan and I never really got along,” he said quietly, looking down in front of him as he tried not to step on any ice slicks. “But I don’t…I just don’t _understand_ what possessed him to do what he did. To all of us. He tried to erase our cultures. He tried to erase _us._ It was inhuman.”

Alfred did not look at Yong Soo. It must have taken a lot for Yong Soo to bring himself to talk about something so painful, and Alfred almost felt like he was intruding if he looked. So, he kept his eyes forward, waiting for Yong Soo to continue.

“I know he acts guilty,” Yong Soo went on, his voice lowering into a grumble. “But sometimes I wonder if he really is. Can a person really understand that they were wrong about something like that after managing to convince themselves such a horrible thing was right in the first place?”

By now, the conversation was making Alfred slightly uncomfortable. He considered Kiku his friend, even after everything that had happened in the Second World War. Alfred couldn’t see the Kiku he knew _now_ ever doing those things, but the Kiku he knew now definitely wasn’t the same Kiku who had been Japan back then. Things had been different. Alfred had been fighting an enemy then who was so loyal to his mission that he could not bear the shame of defeat, who would literally rather die than surrender. There had been Japanese soldiers, with empty guns and snapped knifeblades, who would charge American positions knowing full well it was suicide. And of course Alfred would never forget the chills he got the day that he learned that Japanese pilots who volunteered to die in suicidal plane attacks were known as the _Kamikaze,_ a name that translated to “divine wind.” In every way, Japan had been fully devoted to his Emperor’s cause.

That included hurting Korea more deeply than Alfred could possibly imagine. Sure, he’d heard the stories of the oppression, the cultural erasure, the military conscriptions, the starvation, the brutality, the camps not unlike those found in Germany—but he could not claim to understand. His own soldiers had suffered at the hands of the Japanese, but not like Yong Soo’s had. What Japan had done in Korea was unforgiveable in every way. Just because he and Alfred had made peace did not mean Yong Soo would, or even could.

Did Alfred feel uncomfortable because he considered Kiku his friend, even after everything he’d done? Was it because Yong Soo made a good point in that it was impossible to know what he was really thinking? Was he really changed, as Alfred thought he was?

Alfred felt sure… Between the near inhuman man he’d faced on the burning fields of Okinawa and the man who seemed hopelessly soul-crushed when he lost a game of Pokemon… They weren’t even the same person.

“People change…” Alfred said with a sad smile, unwilling to look at Yong Soo.

“I can’t forgive him. Even if he has changed.” The Korean sighed before going on, his voice growing ever lower. “And then there’s North. Through everything Japan did to us, I thought I’d always have him.” His voice began to waver. “I never gave up because I knew he wouldn’t give up. Even when they separated us—even when they forced us through terrible things alone—I knew he was going through it with me. I loved him more than anything in the world. We were each other’s everything when we had nothing.” By now, Alfred didn’t need to look at Yong Soo to know he was doing everything he could to keep the tears from falling. “And I was stupid to think it would always be that way. What he did hurt more than anything Japan ever could have done. And then China sided with him. The person I looked up to more than anyone. How could he choose one of us? After all those years he spent as our mentor?”

Alfred felt helpless. There was nothing he could say—nothing he could think of that would be consoling. No words that could provide comfort. What Yong Soo had told him was the most intimately personal thing he’d ever shared with Alfred, every word coming from deep in his heart. Alfred had no doubt Yong Soo had been so hurt by his separation with North because of how much they’d been through and how deep their connection had been, a bond so tight that North’s betrayal was the single most physically and emotionally vicious act that could have possible occurred between them.

“Honestly, Alfred?” Yong Soo continued. “You’re the closest thing to family I have.”

“Yong Soo…” Alfred breathed, finally reaching out an arm to carefully wrap around Yong Soo’s shoulders. He felt invasive, as if his touch would break whatever wall existed between Yong Soo and a full-on flood of emotion—but it was the only thing he could think to do. Yong Soo did not object. “I know it’s hard. But I mean…you’re still brothers. People can change. You said Japan was different, right? So—the North you know—he’s there somewhere. And I know China still absolutely adores you, even if he tries to act like he doesn’t.”

Yong Soo was quiet, but after a pause, he seemed to warm up to the idea. “China—m-maybe he does… I wish he was more open about it,” he sighed, finally shrugging Alfred’s arm off his shoulders. “But then North’s still…he’s not Sang Kyu.”

Alfred…was beginning to form an idea in his head. As much as he’d told himself he wouldn’t talk about politics after his first day here, this seemed like the perfect time to try to talk to Yong Soo about having talks with North.

“He keeps asking to talk to you, you know,” Alfred reminded him. “I know you said you didn’t think he was sincere but…nothing can get better if you don’t do anything.”

“I guess…” Yong Soo muttered, not very excited about the proposition. Alfred frowned.

“I mean…at least if you talked to him, you might catch a glimpse of him? Of Sang Kyu I mean?”

Gosh, the name was so strange rolling off his tongue. He and North were _definitely_ not on a first-name basis.

Alfred finally spared a glance at Yong Soo, who seemed to be softening to the idea. “I wish I could,” Yong Soo sighed.

Did he mean that he wished he could talk to North? Or to see the North he used to know? Alfred—well—he had another idea, but he could see the potential for it to go wrong.

Still, with Yong Soo at least admitting that he wanted _something_ positive to happen between him and North, this seemed like as good a time as any to actually _get them to talk._ Hesitantly, Alfred pulled his phone from his pocket, wincing as the cold air bit at his bare fingers. Yong Soo, probably thinking he was just answering a text from Mattie or someone else, didn’t even bat an eye as Alfred pulled up North’s number. What _would_ Yong Soo think of Alfred having North Korea’s phone number? North had mentioned even Yong Soo didn’t have it.

“Yong Soo,” he started slowly. “Do you—do you want to talk to him? Like, right now?”

“What?”

Alfred showed him the phone screen, muttering something stupid about how, yes, he’d entered North’s name as “Commie.” Yong Soo just seemed more confused than anything else, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

“…Which organ did you have to sell to get the money to convince him to give you his number?”

“My brain, probably,” Alfred snorted. “Do you want to talk to him? I can talk first, that way if you decide you don’t want to I can just hang up and he’ll be mad at me instead.”

“I—I don’t know,” Yong Soo stammered, overwhelmed. He seemed torn between the belief that North was now a fundamentally different person who should not be appeased and the belief that the brother he used to know was still there somewhere.

“Um, think of it this way—” Alfred proposed, seeing his indecision. “If he really is sincere, he’ll talk to you now, without his media fanfare or any government officials telling him what to say.”

This argument seemed to click with Yong Soo, and eventually he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he decided finally. “But only if you talk first, like you said.”

“All right,” Alfred said, holding the phone out in front of them. “Are you ready?”

Yong Soo nodded, and Alfred pressed the call button before placing the phone to his ear. Yong Soo watched him as Alfred waited for an answer.

North, obviously smart enough to check the caller ID before answering, seemed to be taking his sweet time deciding whether or not to pick up. Finally, a voice answered on the other line.

“Did you not think to text and ask if I was available before calling?” North griped as soon as he answered. “That would have been a bit polite, don’t you think?”

“Whoa, you could at least say ‘hi,’” Alfred retorted, though he was a bit taken aback by the aggressiveness. “That would be a bit polite.” Yong Soo was looking at him with concern. Maybe this _wasn’t_ the best time to have the two of them talk, but Alfred was adamant about this.

“What do you want?” North demanded, ignoring Alfred’s comment.

“Well, do you have a minute?”

There was a pause as North considered this. “…I suppose.”

“It’s about the talks with South,” Alfred continued, hoping North would cool off in the next minute or so. “You’re still interested in those, right?”

“Yes?”

“Well, um, I may have made a small breakthrough for you, no need to thank me,” Alfred said, glancing at Yong Soo, who was still watching Alfred with anticipation.

Alfred could almost see North rolling his eyes on the other end. “Go on.”

Alfred turned to Yong Soo and pointed to the phone, a silent way of asking if he still wanted to talk. Yong Soo nodded. “Okay, so, I’ve got Yong Soo here with me, and he’s agreed to talk to you. Right now. If you want.”

North was silent for a long moment. “Is this a joke?”

“No, it’s not!” Alfred assured him. “He’s right here, I promise! Do you want to talk to him?”

North sighed and was quiet again, apparently considering his options. “Put him on.”

Alfred grinned, pleased at his apparent success. It was up to Yong Soo now. “All right, here he is,” he said, holding the phone out to Yong Soo and giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

Yong Soo took the phone carefully, giving Alfred a hesitant smile. Alfred then stepped back and began to head out of earshot, wanting the two to be able to speak without any pressure from him. That, and he wasn’t sure he could bear to watch if the conversation started to go bad.

The last thing he heard as he stepped away was Yong Soo saying the first, hesitant word.

“ _Yeoboseyo?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- PC bang: Translates to "PC room" and is basically just a place people go to use the computer or play games. Usually have a very cheap hourly rate.
> 
> \- If you are unfamiliar with the things Japan did to Korea during WWII, essentially, Japan had annexed Korea as a colony back in the 1930's and had proceeded to exploit Korea's labor force and natural resources. Koreans had to take on Japanese names, were not allowed to speak Korean at school or work, were often forced to join the Japanese military, and occasionally were sent to places such as Unit 731, which were essentially medical experimentation camps. Korean women were also forced into "comfort women" roles, which are exactly what they sound like...
> 
> \- Yeoboseyo: Just the Korean way of answering the phone, equivalent to "hello?" or something similar.


	17. Conversation

Alfred never did learn exactly what was said during that phone call. When he was done, Yong Soo had simply handed the phone back to Alfred, saying only that it had gone “all right.” Feeling that it wasn’t his place to press for more information, Alfred kept quiet. With him due to fly back to the states that evening and the sun beginning to get low in the sky, it was time for him and Yong Soo to head towards the airport anyway.

After touching down in Philadelphia, Alfred immediately hopped on a train to Washington, knowing that after nearly a week’s absence, he would surely have something to attend to at the White House. As it turned out, the president merely asked if Alfred had had a good time and told him to begin preparing for the Chinese president’s visit early the next week. That was all fine and dandy with Alfred, so he just decided to chill out in Washington until then.

He hadn’t even been home a full day when he got a text from Yong Soo. He dreaded looking at it, fearing it was bad news, but he was pleasantly surprised.

_Yong Soo: Hotline reopened. =_ _ㅂ= It’s something._

_Alfred: Yeah, congrats!_

Since it had been North who had cut off the line in the first place, Alfred figured something said in that phone conversation must have helped. Even if North didn’t necessarily make the final decisions in his country, surely his input held some weight. Alfred thought he might as well send North a congratulations too.

_Alfred: Congrats on your hotline!_

He didn’t get an answer, but he was just happy to see something tentatively positive happening between the two Koreas. As far as he was concerned, North could ignore Alfred’s texts for the rest of his life as long as he was doing something to work towards peace.

His elation didn’t last long, however. That same night, Alfred turned on the news, only to see clips of the Secretary of Defense (who had been in China at the same time Alfred was in South Korea) saying how North Korea was becoming too much of a threat.

“With the North Koreans' continuing development of nuclear weapons and their development of intercontinental ballistic missiles,” he said, “North Korea is becoming a direct threat to the United States, and we have to take that into account.”

Alfred knew it too. Thoughts of the dream tugged at the back of his mind—of North turning that gun on him and how Alfred had speculated it was a manifestation of his paranoia that North had no desire for peace. And wasn’t that possible? Opening the hotline, calling for talks—all of it could just be a distraction, a little crowd pleaser to keep everyone happy while North’s scientists and engineers were secretly working on a nuke delivery system behind his borders. It wouldn’t matter what talks had been had or what agreements had been made if North got the power to fling a nuke into the middle of Seoul, or fire ten at the coast of California. How close might the North Koreans be? Close enough that they just needed to keep everyone distracted for a few months? It was a hard pill to swallow. Alfred had seen the power of nuclear weapons first hand, and he wasn’t proud of it. It was bad enough, acknowledging that he’d once turned such power on innocents. It was worse to imagine it used on his own people, and the possibility terrified him. It was like Russia all over again, except America was scared North might actually be crazy enough to do it.

Yes, how accomplished North must feel, knowing that the thought of him ever getting a working nuke had the great United States of America scared.

Realizing that he still didn’t trust North to keep his word on anything, Alfred went down to the D.C. public library the next day and checked out every book they had on North Korea. Alfred may have been around for every crazy international stunt North had ever tried to pull, but that didn’t mean he knew everything about him.

In reality, North Korea was commonly referred to as an intelligence black hole. Even someone as well travelled as Alfred didn’t know much about what went on behind North’s borders—and he’d been there more than most people. There were the basics—that North Korea hated Japan, South Korea, and the U.S., that North Korea’s economy was garbage and whatever money came out of it immediately went to the military, and that North Korea had a lot of trouble feeding his citizens.

But, even Alfred needed a refresher every once in a while, so he took his stack of books back to the White House and spent the days leading up to Chinese president Hu Jintao’s big visit reading up on North Korea’s history, politics, economy—anything he could find.

One day, the president entered the Oval Office to find Alfred sprawled lazily across his office chair, feet on the desk, just like he hated.

“Alfred, what do you think you’re doing?” the president asked, marching across the office towards him. “Get your feet off my desk!”

“Sorry, boss,” Alfred said and swung his feet back to the floor, not bothering to look up from his book. He didn’t move out of the chair.

“Alfred, I need to use my desk,” Obama said, leaning over the desk. He peered at Alfred’s book. “What are you reading?”

Alfred glanced up and held the book’s cover up for the president to view. “Just getting to know my enemy,” he answered.

“Well, I’m glad you’re staying in the know,” Obama said, moving behind the desk now to stand at Alfred’s side impatiently. “But I really do need to use that desk.”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” Alfred said, finally getting up from the chair. “I was just keeping it warm for ya.”

“…Thanks, Alfred,” the president said, grimacing as he took his seat. “Anyway, Alfred, don’t forget Hu Jintao’s coming in two days. I’ve been informed that Mr. Wang is coming as well, so if you have anything you want to discuss with him, it would be to your benefit to write it down now. I can’t stress to you how important this meeting is.”

“Got it.”

“…And stop eating at my desk. There’s crumbs all over it.”

“Sorry.”

The next few days were spent preparing for the Chinese guests. American and Chinese flags went up on Pennsylvania Avenue. The White House was cleaned, top to bottom. Hedges around the city were trimmed into neat, geometric shapes. The Obama administration wanted everything perfect.

They needed to impress their guests so that these conversations could go smoothly. There was a _lot_ to talk about. Everything from trade deals to arms sales to Taiwan. It was no secret that China was a rising world power, and it honestly had Alfred nervous. Why was it always these eastern communist nations? First the Soviet Union, and now China. It was increasingly important to stay on China’s good side, but Alfred also had to keep the pressure on him, or risk being run over by the growing Chinese economic machine.

Alfred was there with the president when the Chinese landed at Andrews Air Force Base just outside the city. After a blasting of celebratory music, some handshakes, and a few photos, everyone packed into a limo and drove back to the White House, where the poor driver did his best to dodge the demonstrators who had gathered in the street to protest China’s Tibet policy and human rights record. Alfred sat awkwardly next to China, knowing better than to say anything about it.

Upon arriving at the White House, everyone was treated to a wonderful private dinner by the White House chefs. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits. China, as usual, was smiling and telling good-natured stories intermittently in Chinese and English. Alfred listened and laughed where he was supposed to laugh, groaned where he was supposed to groan, and generally just played along. But he was still troubled. China had always intimidated him. Behind those smiles and laughs were 4000 years of experience Alfred simply didn’t have. China knew how to play to his own strengths and his opponents weaknesses, and Alfred was never completely sure what he was going to be dealing with. Still, it was, in a way, thrilling to go toe-to-toe with someone like that, like China was a living enigma for Alfred to solve.

The next day, President Obama and President Hu were slated to have a series of meetings up in the Oval Office. Alfred was to play host to China, and either entertain him or have his own meeting with him until the world leaders had finished their business.

China, clearly expecting a meeting, showed up dressed smartly in an expensive suit, inlaid with silk threads that shone in a floral pattern when the light hit them right. Alfred, in his khaki slacks and a dress shirt, by comparison, was underdressed.

It wasn’t like anything he and China did today would be photographed and publicized, but he could still feel the judgement the moment China walked in.

“ _Aiyaa,_ how tiring,” China whined as he went to have a seat across from America. They were seated in a small side room, beautifully furnished and perfect for a small sit down such as this. “I barely get to be here a full day and already we’re having meetings.”

“Surely you wanted to come, though,” Alfred pointed out. “Or else you wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right,” China sang, crossing his legs neatly in front of him. “How could I turn down such a pleasant invitation?”

There was always the possibility that China’s leader had _made_ him come, but Alfred doubted it. China was always looking to rub things in his face, whether it was his age or his economy or even the Olympics.

Alfred would have been more comfortable making small talk first, but China wanted to get right to business. The two nations spent a while discussing many of the same things their leaders were in that moment. Alfred wished he’d brought notes. China seemed to be a bottomless reservoir of information, calling up tiny factoids from the back of his memory with ease, meanwhile Alfred was constantly having to pull up things on his phone to prove China wrong. (“No, see, look! That’s definitely _not_ what the stocks looked like last year. Sit down, old man.”) It was a constant struggle to keep China from talking circles around him.

Eventually, talk of relations in Asia was brought up.

“Furthermore, I really wish you’d stop selling those things to Taiwan,” China was saying. “You’re only making things worse for her, you know! She’s already so worried. You’re just reinforcing her fears by convincing her she needs to be armed.”

“Why don’t you just lay off?” Alfred shot back, beginning to get irritated after all this back and forth with someone who didn’t even seem to consider Alfred a worthy opponent. “Do you hear how manipulative you sound?”

“I’m not manipulating anybody! Don’t try to turn this back around on me,” China protested.

“Yeah, right,” Alfred scoffed. “You know how much complaining I hear about you? Hong Kong wishing you wouldn’t mess with his stuff, Taiwan wishing you’d stop acting so threatening—I could go on forever.”

“It’s not your business.” China took a sip of the tea that had been brought out for him by a White House aide, hardly paying Alfred any attention. “ _Aiyaa,_ you’re still making tea the English way? Shameful.”

“It is my business!” Alfred ignored China’s comment about the tea and practically threw his hands up in frustration, but he held back. He knew China wanted to see him get upset so he could make some snide comment about how immature Alfred was acting. “You know you’re not their parent or brother or babysitter or whatever anymore, right? They’re all their own people with their own things to worry about, but all you ever do is butt into everything to make sure it’s going _your_ way!”

“And you don’t?” China blew at his tea before taking another sip.

“No!” Alfred objected. “When have I?”

“Well, you keep giving Taiwan weapons, for one,” China said, holding up a finger. “Invading Vietnam.” He held up a second finger. “Keeping 30,000 troops in Korea.” A third. “Need I go on?”

“If I did, it was for the common good!”

“30,000 troops though? Really, America. Yong Soo’s a big boy. If he doesn’t need _me,_ he doesn’t need _you_ either.”

“So do you wanna explain why you won’t leave North to himself, then? If Yong Soo’s such a big boy, then so is his brother. You oughta let him take care of his own problems.”

China simply waved his hand dismissively. “He knows what he needs to do. He’s just waiting on you and your capitalist cronies.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—”

“—Actually, no, it probably doesn’t. You just want to talk down to me.”

China leaned back in his seat and chuckled. He’d been smiling the entire time, knowing he was on the verge of getting Alfred to lose his temper, and he’d finally done it.

Alfred grimaced. “You’re an asshole.”

China only smiled wider. “Is that how you treat a guest? You really do have England’s manners.”

“Anyway,” Alfred scoffed. “If North’s open to dialogue, I’m cool with that. I just don’t trust his motives.”

“Well, you have that in common.” China sipped his tea once more. “He doesn’t trust yours either.”

“You made that abundantly clear last time we talked,” Alfred reminded him.

“Was I wrong?” China asked knowingly. “You’ve seen him since then, I heard.”

“He doesn’t trust me, I’m sure,” Alfred answered. “But surely he understands war won’t get him anywhere. I just want him to talk to South.”

“Ah, we agree on something,” China marveled. “I would rather see him take the diplomatic route as well.”

“You only say that because you know if he drags you into a military conflict with South, you’ll have to deal with me,” Alfred sneered, aware of his power. “And you don’t want that.”

“I don’t,” China admitted, but Alfred knew there was going to be a catch. “You’re absolutely dreadful to listen to.”

The day concluded with an official state dinner, an extremely fancy event with live musical entertainment and a five course meal. The mood was jubilant, but there was still an underlying tension. Alfred’s president had said that his own meeting had gone well and that he and President Hu had come to several agreements, but Alfred knew he would have said that even if the meeting had gone terribly. He couldn’t let the press catch wind of a botched meeting with another world leader, or he’d never hear the end of it.

Alfred spent the next several days discussing the results of the meeting with the president, both what the leaders had discussed and the nations themselves. It was a lot of information to sift through, but at least they’d both gotten a better idea of how America and China were going to coexist in the world.

A few days later, Alfred got some good news: South Korea had accepted North Korea’s invitation for official talks, which was better than any hotline they could have set up. As it turned out, Obama and Hu both wanted to restart negotiations on North Korea’s nuclear program, which couldn’t happen if South Korea wasn’t on board. Even if these North-South talks weren’t about nukes, at least the two were talking again. Finally, it seemed like they were getting somewhere.

But a few weeks later, everything was falling apart again. Alfred got a text from Yong Soo a few weeks into February:

_Yong Soo: north’s being an asshole again._

_Alfred: dude what’d he do now?_

_Yong Soo: he walked._

_Alfred: what do you mean he walked?_

_Yong Soo: he said he’s done. He doesn’t want to talk anymore._

_Alfred: wtf why not?_

_Yong Soo: we couldn’t agree on what to talk about._

The whole “talks” thing was actually a lot more complicated than just sitting down at a table and talking, as it turned out. The whole point of the first talks had been to lay the groundwork for higher level talks. Basically, talking about what to talk about at some later date. And the Koreas, apparently, couldn’t even agree on that much.

_Alfred: what was the problem? You just get together and…you talk about stuff dude._

_Yong Soo: no, okay so, I wanted to talk about the attacks specifically. North still doesn’t want to own up to that. He said “let’s talk big picture” and talk about larger defensive things like nukes and all that. I said no, this IS a part of the bigger picture because it’s all a part of the same thing, so we’re going to talk about it and he just wouldn’t have it. He walked and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do._

_Alfred: I’ll try to talk to him._

_Yong Soo: okay man good luck._

Alfred immediately switched to his message string with North. He hadn’t spoken to North since the day the hotline reopened because he didn’t want to sound too pushy, but now things were getting pretty serious. And yet, he didn’t want to just send North a wall of text in accusation without hearing what North had to say about it, so he opted for something short and sweet instead.

_Alfred: call me asap._

He waited a full day for a call, figuring North was probably too busy to call him right away, but as soon as that 24 hours was up, he called North himself. He didn’t answer. So Alfred called him at a different time the next day, and the next, but North never picked up.

He even texted China, thinking he might be able to do something.

_Alfred: dude tell north to answer his damn phone._

_Panda Wok: He’s a grown man. I don’t tell him what to do._

_Alfred: I knew you’d be no help._

So he tried Russia next:

_Alfred: do you have north’s number?_

_Mother Bruhssia: You are wanting it?_

_Alfred: no I have it but I need you to call him and tell him to call me._

_Mother Bruhssia: If you have it, then why are you wanting me to call him for calling you?_

_Alfred: because he won’t answer for me and I need to talk to him!_

_Mother Bruhssia: If he is not wanting to talk to you, I think this is between you and him and not me._

_Alfred: dude please just do me this one thing. I’ll buy you a burrito or something next time I see you._

_Mother Bruhssia: I do not like burritos._

_Alfred: fine I’ll buy you something else. I just want you to call north for me!_

_Mother Bruhssia: Sorry! Boss is calling._

God. Alfred slammed his phone down on the desk. Clearly North was content to ignore him, and none of the people close to North were willing to help Alfred out here. He wanted to write North off completely, right then and there—but a nagging voice in the back of his head stopped him. _You can’t just ignore him_ , it said. _What if he does something crazy and you could’ve stopped it?_ Alfred thought back to all those books he’d been reading—about how information didn’t flow in or out of North’s borders and how there’d be no way to tell if he was planning something dangerous. The fact that he was completely ignoring Alfred made him worry. It was almost the same scenario he’d imagined weeks ago—where North made all these diplomatic gestures to buy time so he could finish whatever he was working on. What if that was exactly what was happening? What if he was just putting the finishing touches on some kind of missile or bomb and Alfred would be at war next week?

North wanted to ignore Alfred? Fine. Then Alfred was just going to have to do something that North couldn’t ignore.

So, Alfred opened Google and did what any sane person would do: he searched “how to get into north korea.”

Obviously, one could just stroll across the border, but Alfred knew getting himself killed in a rain of bullets wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

The first link that came up was titled “How to Travel to North Korea.” Now, there was an idea. The U.S. government had lifted travel restrictions to North Korea the previous year, so technically it was perfectly legal for Alfred to go as a tourist. What if he just booked a tour with a tour group and strolled right in, legally, with everyone else? He was sure he wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. Someone in the airport or the hotel or even one of the guides was bound to recognize him, considering he’d just been there a few months ago. And from there he’d surely be reported to the authorities, and his visit would eventually make its way up the chain to North, who would surely have to respond somehow.

It was stupid. An absolutely crazy idea. And yet, what options did Alfred have at this point? Talking to North in person was pretty much his only option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm sorry if China seemed kind of off. I wanted to portray him as someone really smart and calculating who hides his intentions behind a friendly exterior and makes a lot of passive aggressive comments, but it was kind of hard to translate that into text.
> 
> \- January 2011 was a busy month in Asian relations.


	18. Radio Silence

Alfred had visited North Korea only a few times before. Obviously, he’d been there during the Korean War, but he didn’t really count that. He’d been once around the signing of the armistice, once for the signing of the Agreed Framework, and then the most recent trip—but he’d never been as a tourist. For the longest time, it had been illegal for Americans to tour North Korea anyway.

Visiting as a tourist was something he knew North wouldn’t expect. How many Americans had any desire to visit North Korea anyway? Only the adventurous, the thrill seekers—and the crazy, as some would argue. Maybe Alfred _was_ a bit crazy for considering this.

But, he was running out of options. He had to try something drastic if he wanted to get North’s attention before it was too late.

All travel to North Korea had to be done through a travel agency, so Alfred began looking for more information on how to travel there as a tourist. Most of the tour packages he found had only an itinerary and promised further details only after he’d signed up. Well, since Alfred had already decided he was going, he decided he might as well.

He began looking at dates, and he found what may have been perfect—a one week tour starting in late February. It was after the Dear Leader’s birthday, which was celebrated as a national holiday in North Korea, but before the start of joint military drills Alfred’s government had set up with Yong Soo’s, which he was sure North was bound to throw a fit over. If he could be in North Korea before those drills happened, perhaps he could keep North calm and prevent a conflict over them, similarly to what he’d done last time he’d been there.

Eager to get the ball rolling, Alfred booked the trip and started getting his affairs in order. A few days after booking, he received an email from the travel agency with more details explaining what not to do in North Korea, as well as how to go about getting to the North Korean embassy in Beijing and getting his visa. It was all stuff he’d been through before, but he read it anyway, determined to have everything go smoothly.

That happened to involve not telling Obama.

Alfred was afraid if Obama ever caught wind of the plan to travel to North Korea, he’d pull the plug. Alfred may have been the United States of America, but Obama was still the president. If he found out Alfred was doing something he didn’t approve of, he would try to do something about it, whether that meant sending out the FBI or freezing Alfred’s bank account or cancelling his unrestricted access to get pretty much anywhere, anytime. It was like having an overprotective parent—except when Alfred misbehaved, he got grounded by the president.

Knowing this, Alfred kept the plan a secret. He made sure to pay for the trip out of his personal account—which was full of money earned from crop and livestock sales from his ranch down in Texas—to reduce the chances of the president finding out. He continued to do paperwork as normal, neither trying to get ahead nor falling too far behind. He carried on as if everything was normal, though he continued to keep up with North Korea news in secret—just in case something big happened that could jeopardize the trip.

It seemed to be business as usual for the North Koreans—anger over the planned drills, asking for aid to feed hungry citizens, and isolation.

When the day finally came for Alfred to board a plane to Beijing, he did so without telling anyone where he was going. He had packed enough clothes for a few days in Beijing while the visa paperwork got processed, plus a week in North Korea. His phone was in his pocket, but he dreaded checking it, fearing the moment he did would be the moment he got a text or a call saying he was needed at the White House. What was he supposed to say? “Sorry, boss, I’m on an unannounced vacation”? Well, thinking about it, that was probably exactly what he was going to have to say. Eventually, he was going to have to tell _someone_ where he was going, in case something happened and he got stuck. There was no calling for help once his phone got taken at North Korean customs.

His first two days in Beijing went off without a hitch. Alfred’s plane landed on time and he got checked into a nearby hotel. On the first day he went to the creepy, prison-like building that housed the North Korean embassy and got his visa paperwork taken care of. The staff must have been rotated since the last time he was there, because no one recognized him. Either that, or they were too busy taking care of other tourists arriving for the same tour to notice. His time after that was spent exploring the less touristy parts of Beijing that he hadn’t yet seen.

The trouble came when it was time to go back to the embassy to pick up his visa.

“Denied,” the Korean behind the reception desk said as he pulled up Alfred’s name on the computer.

“What?” Alfred asked, fearing now that he wouldn’t even make it into North Korea. “Why?”

“You’re political,” the man answered, shoving Alfred’s passport back towards him across the desk. “Need special clearance.”

Great, Alfred thought. Did all the people at the embassy know who he was now? Did North distribute a “no entry” list to the staff to make sure no one he hated like got into his country?

“I’m just a tourist!” Alfred protested. “I’m not a president or a senator or anything. How is that political?”

The Korean pulled up something on his computer screen. “You came with Richardson. Political visit.”

Well, maybe the staff didn’t exactly know that Alfred was the literal embodiment of America, but the fact that he’d been to their country on political business once and was back again so soon must have looked suspicious enough to deny him entry. But Alfred wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“There must be some mistake,” Alfred lied, pulling out his phone. “I should have special clearance. I’ve got a buddy named—” Shit. He’d never tried to pronounce North’s name without hearing it from someone else first. “—Sang Kyu,” he said, drawing out the A and hoping it was right. It would be embarrassing to claim North was his “buddy” and not even say his name right. “I should have had clearance from him. I’ve got his number here if you need to call him.”

The man behind the desk stared at Alfred skeptically from behind the rims of his 70’s-style glasses. “Please wait here,” he said, grabbing Alfred’s passport off the desk once more and disappearing into a back room, presumably to make a phone call or ask someone in a higher position than himself if Alfred was supposed to have entry access. Alfred waited patiently, trying to look like he knew he was in the right for any staff members or cameras that might be watching him. He’d come this far, so he didn’t want to _not_ make it to North Korea. At least, even if he didn’t, it seemed unlikely that North would ignore Alfred specifically saying that it had been him who granted Alfred access. Alfred’s phone felt heavy in his hand, and he secretly hoped it would buzz with a call from North. At least it would force North to talk to him.

A long ten minutes later, the man returned with Alfred’s passport and a visa, which he stuck in the back.

“You’ve been cleared,” he said in a tone that gave Alfred the feeling he didn’t agree with the decision. Alfred smiled and thanked him anyway, then returned to his hotel to prepare to board a plane for Pyongyang the next day.

When the time finally came for him to board his plane, Alfred felt apprehension bubbling deep in his stomach. Had it really been North who had approved his visit? If so, why? As he settled into the rickety seat aboard the old Air Koryo plane, he was suddenly reminded of the fact that his phone would soon be taken from him, and that after that he would be cut off from the outside world. It was time to send that message to the president.

_Alfred: by the way, I’m going to north korea for a week. just so you know where I am if I’m not back in a week._

_Alfred: and I’m not kidding either._

Possibly against his better judgement, Alfred turned his phone off after that. He didn’t want to get a message back that might change his mind about going through with this. He was in too deep. It was radio silence from here on out.

The flight was smooth and so was the landing. It was a clear, sunny afternoon in Pyongyang. The plane, full of Chinese and English and other Americans who were surely in Alfred’s tour group, began to unload. Four North Koreans in formal civilian attire approached the group and introduced themselves as guides. Alfred didn’t recognize any of them, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Him talking to North depended a little on someone reporting his arrival. Then again, if North had approved his visit yesterday, he probably already knew where to find Alfred.

After everyone’s luggage had been unloaded, the group left the tarmac and entered the terminal, where they lined up to go through customs. When Alfred handed over his passport and phone, the customs official took one look at it and clicked his tongue.

“I know you,” he said in a heavily accented voice. Alfred resisted the urge to smile. Someone had clearly been told to look out for him. The official called over another worker, who asked Alfred to step out of line and follow him to a small room off to the side. The other tourists watched with concerned faces as Alfred grabbed his luggage and followed. Alfred did feel a bit bad. His little stunt had probably confirmed for the other tourists their unspoken fears of being detained in this country, which was surely what it must have looked like as Alfred was led away to airport jail.

Inside the room, the second official sat Alfred down across from a desk with a computer, a phone, and some papers scattered about its surface. The official picked up the phone, spoke a few words into the receiver in Korean, then sat back in his chair without speaking a word to Alfred.

“So…why am I here?” Alfred ventured, hoping the second official spoke English.

“Holding,” the man answered tersely.

“…For?” Alfred pressed.

A grin spread across the official’s face. “Questioning.”

That’s when Alfred started to think he may have made a big mistake in coming here. If North had any desire to harm him, Alfred had just walked in and handed himself over on a silver platter. If the North Koreans had been in a bad spot before, they might be in a great one now. Alfred had already handed over his phone and had no way to call for help. They could hold him hostage and demand all kinds of things from his government in exchange for his safe return. They could threaten and torture him as revenge for all the things they believed he’d done to them with the satisfaction of knowing he could not permanently die. They could—

Before Alfred could let his imagination run too wild, the door opened. North stood in the doorway, wearing his usual olive drab and an angry scowl. He grunted something in Korean, and the official got up and left, leaving Alfred alone with his communist adversary.

“I should have you deported,” North growled, looking down at Alfred with his arms crossed.

“But you won’t,” Alfred smirked, trying to maintain his confidence. “Or you wouldn’t have let them give me a visa.”

North continued to glare at him, eyes narrowed. Alfred took his silence as confirmation that North had indeed let him into the country.

“You should have just answered my calls,” Alfred went on, smiling wryly. “Now you have to deal with me in person.”

“What are you doing here?” North demanded, ignoring Alfred’s words and coming a few steps closer so that he was now standing over the American. If he was trying to intimidate Alfred, it wasn’t really working. If he stood up, Alfred would be several inches taller, and then whatever physical presence North had managed to procure for himself in this situation would be gone.

“Didn’t I just pretty much tell you?” Alfred asked, though it was less a question than a statement. “I came here to talk to you.”

“You expect me to believe that? I’m not stupid,” North hissed. “You didn’t come all this way just to talk.”

Alfred felt his cheeks begin to burn. Normally, he wouldn’t be at all hurt by North calling him stupid, because Alfred knew it wasn’t true. Except this time, he had admittedly done something _very_ stupid. So stupid, in fact, that even North didn’t seem to believe Alfred was dumb enough to do it. It was like an indirect insult.

“I, uh, did,” Alfred admitted, dropping his gaze for a moment. When he looked back up, North’s expression hadn’t changed. “You weren’t answering my calls so I figured I’d have to do something you couldn’t ignore, and you couldn’t! ‘Cause here we are.”

 “You’re here to spy on me,” North said matter-of-factly after a short pause, as if Alfred had somehow admitted to being a spy in his last sentence.

“Uh, no? I’m not.” Alfred shrugged. “Look, man, think about it. Why would I bother to have your embassy staff in Beijing call you up and basically tell you I was trying to get in? It’s because I wanted you to know I was coming. Would I do that if I was trying to spy on you?”

“You were trying to slip in with a tour group.”

“But why would I have your embassy staff tell you that?”

North seemed to tense up the more Alfred spoke. “I don’t know!” he said, exasperated. He took his eyes off Alfred for a moment to pace away a few steps. “You’re trying to spy right under my nose.”

“Geez,” Alfred sighed. In the short time between Alfred’s last visit and this one, North had gone from being ready to start things over with him to being just as hostile and paranoid as ever. Alfred had to wonder if maybe North’s leader had somehow found out about the things said on the roadway and had a word with North about it. Or maybe North had _never_ had any plan to be civil with Alfred and had simply played along until he’d gotten the talks with South Korea like he’d wanted. “Maybe I just wanted to come on a nice vacation to North Korea,” Alfred pouted fakely. “And you’re giving me a bad first impression of your country.”

“You’ve already seen my country,” North scoffed, turning to face Alfred again.

“It was a joke.”

“So you _are_ spying?”

“No!” Alfred groaned. There was no winning here. “Look. What do you want me to do? I came here to ask you to keep trying to talk to Yong Soo because, frankly, you’re being a jerk.”

“…Excuse me?” North asked incredulously.

“Yeah, a jerk.”

North stared at Alfred like he was the biggest idiot in the world (a fair assumption). A crack appeared in North’s cold exterior as his eyebrows drew together and he racked his brain trying to figure out if Alfred was being serious. Finally, he seemed to come to the realization that, yes, maybe Alfred _was_ dumb enough to actually do that. “You really came here just to tell me that?”

“…Yeah,” Alfred said with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence hung between the two nations as they both mentally tried to work through their confusion. North almost looked like he wanted to laugh. Almost.

“What if I said ‘no’?” North asked, breaking the silence at last.

“Well…” Clearly Alfred hadn’t thought this plan through very well. He was on North’s turf. He couldn’t _make_ North do anything. He didn’t have the backup of politicians this time. North had no reason to take him seriously. He could send Alfred home whenever he wanted. “I’d have to insist.”

“…Anyway,” North sighed after a pause, his expression hardening again. “I’m not going to believe that. You’re here spying. Probably scouting before your ‘drills.’ Or should I say, ‘invasion cover-up?’”

Alfred wanted to throw his hands up in frustration. How on earth had North come up with a ridiculous reason like that? What made him so paranoid that he genuinely believed he was going to be attacked every time someone held a drill?

“What can I do to make you believe me?” Alfred asked, hoping North would actually have an answer for him. “A written statement? A lie detector test? I’ll do it, whatever it is.”

Another moment of silence passed between the two as North considered his options. “Let me make a call,” he said, ducking out of the room. Alfred knew he would still be standing just outside the door.

A few minutes later, North was back. “I’m moving you.”

“You’re not kicking me out?”

“I can’t,” North replied. “Only two flights out per week. Today’s left this morning. Next one is on Tuesday.”

“So…”

“So, come with me,” North growled, pulling Alfred up from his chair by the arm.

Maybe Alfred deserved the rough treatment for the nation equivalent of trespassing, but was it really necessary? He wrenched his arm back after he was standing and grabbed his suitcase with a huff. “Thanks for the help there, buddy.” North didn’t answer to that.

Instead, North led Alfred out of the airport into what must have been the parking lot. Cars were scattered haphazardly across the asphalt because there were no painted lines for them to park between. North unlocked the door to a white sedan that must have been at least 20 years old and motioned for Alfred to get in the passenger’s seat, which he did without protest. The upholstery gave off the unmistakable tang of cigarette smoke.

“You smoke?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow as North settled himself into the driver’s seat.

“Rarely,” North answered as the old car sputtered to life. “It’s the people who ride with me.”

“Tell them it’s bad for them,” Alfred said. “And you should stop too.”

North drove from the airport to the heart of Pyongyang. Alfred gazed out the window absentmindedly. The streets were clear of snow, but it was still too cold for it to melt, so it just sat piled up and dirty on the side of the road. They were the only car on the street. Everyone else was bundled up and walking.

A few minutes later, they pulled up outside of a large building. Alfred looked up at the Korean writing and mentally translated it as “First People’s Hospital.”

“Why are we at a hospital?” Alfred asked, hesitating to get out of the car. A feeling of apprehension settled into his gut.

“Questioning,” North said simply, getting out and going around to the passenger side to make sure Alfred did the same. Alfred stared at him through the window, unmoving. North may not have been smiling, but Alfred’s memory flashed back to the official at the airport who had grinned so gleefully when he’d said that same word. What was North not telling him?

After a few moments, North grew impatient and opened the door, continuing to glare at Alfred. “Come on.”

“Tell me why we’re at a hospital for ‘questioning,’” Alfred demanded, keeping his seatbelt buckled and his legs stretched out so it would be hard for North to pull him from the car.

“You said you would do anything to prove you were telling the truth,” North replied as if it were obvious.

“I’m not getting out so you can torture me with scalpels and injections and weird brain-washing drugs and god knows what else,” Alfred said, settling further down into the seat stubbornly. “Nope. Count me out. That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“It’s none of that,” North said, reaching in to try and unbuckle Alfred’s seatbelt. Alfred caught North’s hand and shoved it back towards him. He was honestly beginning to get a little scared. Maybe North _did_ bring Alfred here to have him tortured. If he really needed to, Alfred was probably strong enough to fight North off and make a run for it. Regular humans would be no match for him and he could probably run to the border with South Korea, at the cost of a lot of negative publicity and an international incident. It would be a tough one to explain back home, but he wasn’t about to let North have the satisfaction of tearing him up.

“You’re getting awfully pushy there,” Alfred said, still refusing to get out. “Come on. What are we doing here? Spit it out.”

Alfred could see North clenching his jaw as he debated whether to give up that information, but finally, he did. “One injection,” he said. “Sodium pentothal. Now get out.”

Alfred gave North a good, cold staredown, but after a moment, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

Sodium pentothal was more colloquially known as “truth serum.” Alfred remembered the CIA using it many years ago, both on enemy spies and their own, to loosen their tongues and get them to talk. The drug worked by depressing the nervous system, and in turn, the higher functions that allowed a person to lie. Since lying was more complex than telling the truth, subjects would often get chatty and spill things they hadn’t meant to spill. Alfred’s country had mostly stopped using the drug because it was found that subjects, unable to think critically under its influence, would often unknowingly agree with what their interrogators were asking them and tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, whether it was true or not.

Alfred followed North through the hospital doors, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to resign to this chemical interrogation just yet. If North—or whoever Alfred’s interrogators ended up being—phrased their questions right, Alfred might unknowingly confess to something that wasn’t true, and then who knew how his own words would be used against him?

“You know that stuff isn’t fool proof right?” he pointed out, wondering if it might have any effect on North. It didn’t, and North led him straight to the reception desk, where he exchanged a few words with the receptionist before leading Alfred down a long hallway off to the side. “Surely you have a lie detector somewhere.”

“In a secret facility I can’t take you to,” North explained, finally opening one of the doors and holding it open for Alfred.

The room looked like a dentist’s room—bare except for a cabinet filled with vials of drugs, a sink, and a dentist’s chair. Like the rest of the hospital, it was unheated, and lit dimly by a single lightbulb and whatever small amount of electricity the hospital was allotted. He entered hesitantly, waiting to see if North would follow him. When he did, Alfred relaxed a little and sat down in the chair. If he was going to go through with this, he at least wanted one familiar face around. He had a grim thought about how sodium pentothal was _also_ used in lethal injections, but where would executing him get the North Koreans? He would just revive and they’d be right back where they’d started. And there were much more violent, satisfying ways to kill him anyway. Even after managing to convince himself that he wasn’t about to die here, Alfred still fidgeted uncomfortably, grimacing as the cold began to seep through his clothes from the leather below.

Since there wasn’t another chair in the room, North had positioned himself near the door, leaning against the wall. After a few moments in silence, he seemed to sense Alfred’s discomfort. “It’s voluntary, you know.”

“The injection?”

“Yes.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Alfred scoffed. “If I don’t do it, I’m probably automatically guilty right? So what’s my other option?”

“A heavily guarded cell until I can put you on a plane out of here,” North answered completely seriously.

“Why am I not surprised?” Alfred laughed uneasily. Less than an hour ago, he’d stepped off a plane at the airport, and now he was about to be chemically interrogated. This all had to be a joke. All of it. From the fact that he was about to be injected with a drug literally known as “truth serum” to this creepily outdated hospital room—it was like it had all come out of a bad spy movie. Except everything here was real.

The door creaked open and a middle-aged nurse entered, holding a single vial and a needle. She asked North something in Korean, and North turned to Alfred.

“Do you consent?” he asked.

Alfred could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This was his last chance to say no. He could spend a few days in a cell and be out of here, knowing he had given up nothing he hadn’t meant to, but also that he hadn’t achieved what he’d come here to do. Or he could go through with this interrogation and show that his intentions were pure, but possibly give up a national secret or otherwise say something North was sure to take to heart in the process. The two options danced in his head, but he finally found himself muttering, “Yes.”

North relayed this to the nurse, who then went to the cabinet to retrieve a cotton ball and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. She said something else to North, who translated it for Alfred.

“Pull down your pants.”

Alfred stared. “…What the fuck, man.”

“Don’t say it like that!” North scolded, clearly embarrassed. “It goes in the muscle!”

Alfred understood, but North getting flustered was so different from his usual cold demeanor that Alfred had to milk it for all it was worth. “Turn around so I don’t have to feel like you’re looking at my ass then.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

North shook his head, but turned around and muttered something in Korean that didn’t need translating.

Alfred stood up from the chair and pulled down his pants and underwear enough to expose one butt cheek for the waiting nurse. She swabbed a chosen area with rubbing alcohol, and Alfred felt a prick as the truth serum was injected deep into the muscle. When she was done, Alfred pulled his pants back up, and within seconds he felt something like a welcoming warmth wash over him. The door creaked as the nurse left, and North turned back to face him.

Alfred’s pounding heart slowed, and he sank back down into the chair. The old padding, as cold and thin as it was, seemed to envelope him like a loving hug. The dim light above him suddenly seemed like springtime sunshine. North was no longer an enemy interrogator, but a long lost friend. What had Alfred been so afraid of? He was clearly in no danger here. In fact, he almost wanted to laugh.

“Why did you come here?” North asked after a moment.

“To talk to you,” Alfred heard himself saying. His voice had a distant, echoing quality. “But, man, you make it hard. You’re not the easiest guy to talk to, you know?”

“Why is that?” North inquired, his voice suddenly smooth and sweet like whipped cream. Was it the drug? Alfred felt himself smile.

“Well, you’re kind of a jerk, but I told you that already.” Surely it was obvious. Despite looking almost exactly like his brother in the South, the two Koreas couldn’t have been more different. Alfred stared at North. Everything seemed to now be surrounded by a fuzzy halo. “You’re the bad Korea.”

North visibly frowned. Suddenly, Alfred felt bad for what he’d said. North may have been an enemy, but Alfred wanted them to be friends! They couldn’t be friends if Alfred made him sad.

“No, no!” he cried. “Don’t get sad! I hate seeing Yong Soo cry and since you’re twins, him crying is basically you crying so—so don’t do that okay? I don’t wanna see it. You’ll probably make me cry too.”

Even as drugged up as he was, Alfred could see North roll his eyes. Ha! What a fun guy. “Who sent you?” North asked before Alfred could say any more.

“No one!” Alfred proclaimed proudly. “You know how much trouble I had to go through to get here? I had to hide everything because Obama wouldn’t let me come if he knew what I was doing. How stupid is that? I’m _America_ and he thinks he can tell me what to do? Sorry, buddy, I’m the embodiment of freedom. Free like an eagle. Caw caw, motherfucker.”

He felt bubbles tickling at his chest, and suddenly he was erupting in laughter. Caw caw? Eagles didn’t caw. They screeched like harpies flying victoriously into battle. How could he have been so silly? He laughed and laughed until he got the hiccups, which only made him laugh harder.

At some point, he must have passed out, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with a massive headache. North stood over him, helpfully blocking some of the now painful light from the bulb overhead, though Alfred knew it wasn’t North’s intention to be nice.

“You _fucking_ commie…” Alfred drawled through the pain, whatever affection he’d felt for North because of the drug now a distant memory. He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again. “It fucking _hurts._ ”

“Side effect,” North grunted, thrusting a cup of cold water into Alfred’s hands. “Be happy. You pass. I suppose.”

“Happy birthday to me,” Alfred scoffed, accepting the cup, though he nearly dropped it.

“It’s February,” North reminded him wisely.

“Wow, thanks, I didn’t know that!” Alfred shot back. He thought he may have seen North smirking, but he was still so drugged up on truth juice he couldn’t be sure. “What now?”

“No cell for you,” North confirmed.

“Fantastic,” Alfred snorted. “What do I get instead?”

“You signed up for a tour. You get a tour,” North said. “But I don’t trust you not to beat up my guards and go off on your own, so you get me instead.”

Alfred could hardly believe his ears. Well, he had wanted to talk to North, hadn’t he? Now it sounded like he would have all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- As outlandish as truth serum sounds, it's a real thing. It's not used much anymore, but recently it was almost used in the James Holmes trial to determine whether or not Holmes was legally insane at the time of his crime. In the end, it wasn't used because it was thought to infringe upon his right to remain silent. I can't confirm whether or not North Korea uses it, but it's not a very big stretch of the imagination to see it happening there. There is one account of someone who claims to have had it used on him by the North Koreans in the book Eating with the Enemy, but it's hard to verify.
> 
> \- It's true that very few flights go in and out of North Korea. The official airline, Air Koryo, only goes in and out on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Arrivals are at 11:30am and departures are at 9:00am. So Alfred's stuck for three days, at least. There are a few other miscellaneous Chinese airlines that do flights to Pyongyang, but I can't find any information on how often they fly, so I think they must be on an as-needed basis.


	19. Facade

If Alfred thought his first few hours in North Korea had been weird, they were about to get a whole lot weirder.

“I can’t take you back to the hotel,” North said as he started up the car and pulled away from the hospital.

“What?” Alfred whined, pressing the tips of his fingers into his throbbing temples. He wanted nothing more than to go flop down on a bed somewhere, but for now, sinking further down into the old seat of North’s sedan would have to do. “Why not?”

“Orders,” North replied simply. Alfred understood that this meant “because my boss told me so” and that he probably shouldn’t question it. The last thing he needed to do was accidentally insult the Dear Leader. He had a particular feeling, however, that these “orders” had something to do with North’s earlier comment about Alfred beating up his guards and running away. North was probably the only person in his country who had any chance of standing up to Alfred’s brute strength.

“So, where are you taking me instead?” Alfred asked, squeezing his eyes shut against the light of the sinking sun.

“Home,” North grunted after a pause.

“I thought the planes didn’t fly for another three days or whatever,” Alfred pointed out, not understanding.

“Not your home,” North clarified. “ _My_ home.”

Alfred’s eyes shot open, and he stared at North, unbelieving. “What?” Suddenly, Alfred’s imagination was kicked into motion. What kind of place would North live in? A concrete structure that had once been a bunker or military barracks? A mansion? A basic apartment somewhere in Pyongyang? It was hard to imagine North living like a normal person somehow. He was so cold and distant, sometimes it was easy to forget he was human.

“Your other option is the cell,” North went on. “So behave.” He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Alfred. “—And stop giving me that look.”

About half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a decrepit house on the outskirts of Pyongyang. The house had once had a white exterior, but it had grown dirty due to age and lack of maintenance. The roof was dark gray and constructed Korean style, so that the edges flared outward slightly in elegant triangular shapes. Perhaps the most noticeable feature of the house was its blue door and edging, which was chipped and fading. By the looks of it, the place had probably been built 50 years ago. Despite its rough appearance, however, it was noticeably nicer than most of the houses they’d driven by on the way over.

It also had a much better view. The house was situated halfway up a small mountain on a side road that branched off the main one. As Alfred exited the car, he looked out over the valley below, thick with pine trees and the occasional house. The windows of Pyongyang apartments glinted in the distance.

Alfred grabbed his suitcase and followed North, who unlocked the door and held it open for Alfred.

“Don’t break anything,” he said before Alfred could so much as look around. “And take off your shoes.”

“I was gonna!” Alfred protested as he stepped inside. Couldn’t North give him a break? Alfred’s head was still throbbing, and he had a feeling it was going to stay that way the rest of the evening. He slipped off his shoes and shoved them into a corner in the entryway, seeing North do the same. When he was done, he glanced around at the home’s interior.

The walls were covered in red, floral wallpaper, the tacky kind Alfred hadn’t seen since the 1950’s. The floors were a dark wood to match the relatively dark walls, making the whole place seem kind of dim. From where he was standing in the entryway, Alfred could see the living room, which was only moderately decorated—mostly with pictures of North’s leaders hanging above an old clunker of a television and a radio, which Alfred found creepy. There was an old couch in the middle of the room with a low table in front of it. Open areas of the walls were lined with small bookcases, some of which held books, others of which held various decorative vases or trinkets. One wall had a sliding door that led to another room, and opposite to that was a hallway that led deeper into the house.

Alfred would have liked to explore more, but it felt like his brain was trying to break out of his skull.

“Hey, look, can I like…lie down somewhere, maybe?” he asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what North had planned for him, but he figured the cranky Korean wouldn’t mind a few hours free of having to monitor him. “My head’s killing me.”

Luckily, North nodded. “I have a guest room,” he said, motioning for Alfred to follow him. North led Alfred down the narrow hallway and into a bedroom a few doors down. Like the rest of the house, it was also plainly decorated, with just a few framed paintings of the Korean landscape hanging on the walls. A low bed was pushed against the wall under the window. Against another wall was a desk and a chair. A floor lamp stood lonely in one corner while a wardrobe took up residence in another. Other than that, the room was pretty much empty.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” North told him, hovering in the doorway as Alfred wheeled his suitcase over to the bed. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall.”

Alfred flopped down onto the mattress, feeling it sink down under him. It was no hotel, but North’s house was good enough for Alfred. “Thanks, buddy. I’m just gonna take a nap, I think.”

He looked up just in time to see North roll his eyes. He probably thought Alfred was being a huge baby, and Alfred was pretty sure North enjoyed seeing him in pain. “Let me know if you need anything,” North said before ducking out.

Maybe it wasn’t smart to let himself fall asleep in the home of one of his worst enemies, but Alfred’s head hurt too much to care. Knowing it would probably be his only escape from the pain, he peeled off his jacket, settled down, and eventually let himself drift off to sleep.

It was the cold that woke him up the next morning.

The previous night, Alfred had not bothered to crawl under the covers of the bed, instead falling asleep on top. By morning, he was cold to the bone. Was North keeping his house freezing cold on purpose? If it was meant as a way to make Alfred uncomfortable, it was working. There were few things Alfred hated more than the cold.

Thankfully, his migraine was finally gone, so he felt good enough to get out of bed and go find his reluctant host. Pulling one of the blankets off the bed, he wrapped himself up snugly before slipping out into the hallway to look for North.

He emerged into the living room, which turned out to be empty. Surely North wouldn’t have left him home alone? On the far end of the room, the sliding door stood slightly ajar, so Alfred made his way over and slid it over far enough to slip through. Inside, North sat cross-legged on a cushion in front of a low table by the window, wrapped in his own blanket and drinking a cup of tea. When Alfred entered, he glanced up and motioned for him to sit down on a cushion across from him.

“The power’s out,” he said, skipping the morning greetings. From the looks of it, he’d been heating the water for his tea with a small camping stove.

Alfred took his seat across for North, carefully sitting so that his blanket still covered as much of him as possible. He wasn’t sure how long the power had been out, but it had been long enough for the inside of the house to get substantially colder than it had been when he’d fallen asleep the night before. Just walking across the house had made his feet cold, and he pulled them underneath him as far as he could. North seemed to sense his discomfort and poured him a cup of tea, sliding it towards him. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Alfred said as he pulled the steaming cup towards him. He held it in front of his face for a moment, letting the rising heat warm his cold nose, before taking a sip. He could feel the warm liquid all the way down to his stomach.

For a moment, they sat in silence, and Alfred quickly began to feel awkward. He hated silence. North wasn’t much of a conversationalist to begin with, but without power, there wasn’t even a radio or TV to provide background noise. With the road outside being only lightly travelled, there was no traffic noise either. Even the birds seemed to have gone quiet, probably still south for the winter. It was too quiet. So, Alfred tried to get North talking.

“So, uh, not that I don’t like your house or anything, but why am I staying with you again?” he asked, hoping it wouldn’t come off as rude. Even being on not-so-good terms with North, he didn’t want to offend his host. That would just make it more awkward.

“So I can keep an eye on you,” North said calmly, making eye contact for probably the first time since he’d questioned Alfred. It was something Alfred had noticed about North. He didn’t really like to make eye contact unless he was in full control of the situation. “I suppose I’ll have to come up with a way to entertain you.”

“Why don’t you just show me what a typical day is like for you?” Alfred suggested, taking another sip of his tea. He didn’t want to forget why he’d come here—to get North talking to his brother again—but he didn’t want to jump into that conversation right away either. He needed to sweeten North up first, or else he might piss North off and close his mind to the idea for good.

North stared at him like it was a stupid suggestion, then blinked slowly and took a sip of his own tea. “Well, I usually get up earlier and go to work, but I can’t leave you. So.”

Was North really humoring his suggestion for once? Alfred kept talking, trying to keep a conversation going so that they wouldn’t have to sit in awkward silence. “What do you usually do after waking up?”

“Drink tea,” North replied without missing a beat.

“How long have you been sitting out here drinking tea?” Alfred asked.

“An hour or so.”

“That long?”

“There’s nothing else to do.”

Alfred glanced out the window and noted that the sun was already pretty far up in the sky. How early had North gotten up? He seemed like the kind of guy who worked on a military schedule, waking up before dawn and returning home only after the sun had set.

“How long has the power been out?” Alfred asked. “It’s not like there’s a snowstorm or anything.”

“Since before sunrise,” North answered. That explained why it was so cold. “It should be back on soon.”

“How do you know?”

“It does this often.”

Alfred blinked. “Why?”

“To conserve energy, we rotate what areas get power,” North explained. “The lights are probably on in the city right now.”

When Alfred had visited a few months ago, only certain areas of large buildings had been heated—and that had been in Pyongyang, the capital city. Was power so scarce that the outskirts and rural areas had to go without power for hours on end?

“So, will Pyongyang be without power later?” Alfred asked. It only seemed fair.

North was scowling tensely at him now. “You ask too many questions.”

“I’m just curious!” Alfred said, trying to suppress a chuckle behind his hand. He couldn’t deny that he was asking so many questions in part because he knew it would get North worked up. Even if he was on enemy turf, Alfred still liked to mess with his little communist friend. “Relax a little. You think I’m gonna try and go anywhere in this cold? Nah, man, I hate the cold. This is probably the warmest place for miles around.”

North seemed to think on this for a moment. Then, Alfred could see him visibly loosen, his shoulders relaxing. He waited a moment, thinking North might say something, but when he didn’t, Alfred decided he would have to be the one to continue this conversation.

“So, uh, after you drink tea, what do you do?” he asked.

“Go to work,” North replied tersely, as always.

“What do you do at work?”

“…You ask too many questions,” North said again, glancing away and distracting himself by taking a sip of his tea.

“I wouldn’t have to ask questions if you’d try to hold up your end of the conversation,” Alfred pointed out. “I thought you were gonna show me your typical day.”

“I can’t take you to work with me,” North said dismissively.

“Why don’t you just tell me what it’s like then?” Alfred pressed.

North narrowed his eyes, then let out a defeated sigh. “I wake up early. I drink my tea and drive to the border. I do some things down there for the morning, then I drive back to Pyongyang for administrative things in the afternoon. Sometimes I go up north to see that border, but not as often. It’s a longer drive.”

When he was done, he took another sip of tea, as if it was the punctuation at the end of his sentence.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Alfred said with a smile, though he realized a second later that North was interpreting it as patronizing.

“I don’t need your help to have a conversation,” North growled. “I only said that much because I thought it might make you shut up.”

“I—geez, sorry,” Alfred said, giving North a wounded look. He was just trying to get to know North a little better. After all, they had agreed on that whole “starting over” thing right? They had reintroduced each other with their human names and shook hands and everything. For a while, all had seemed well. Then North went back to ignoring everyone. It was like they were back at square one, but Alfred wasn’t ready to let things go back to hostilities just yet. “I just wanted to talk to you. We never get to just have a conversation, ya know? It’d be sorta nice to get to know you a little.” To emphasize his disappointment, he sank forward to rest his chin on the table, looking up at North and sticking out his bottom lip pitifully. It was the puppy dog look he’d perfected on Arthur and Matthew over the years.

It seemed to have an effect on North too, because he looked at Alfred, bewildered, then looked away, embarrassed by his momentary show of emotion. “I can give you a tour of the house,” he conceded.

It wasn’t the deep, get-to-know-you conversation Alfred had been hoping for, but it was something.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, gulping down the rest of his tea, much to North’s disgust. North continued to drink his at own pace, but when he finally finished, he pulled his blanket around him, stood up, and motioned for Alfred to follow him.

The first stop, basically right next to the table, was the kitchen. It was small, but seemed to be fully functional with a refrigerator, stove, sink, and cabinets. North didn’t spend much time on it, and quickly wheeled Alfred around and back through the sliding door to the living room.

“You saw this yesterday,” he said, but went on to point out that yes, he did have a TV and a radio and pictures of his leaders in here.

Moving on, he led Alfred down the hallway and stopped at the first door. He cast it open and stepped inside.

“My room,” he said.

Alfred was a little hesitant to step inside, but eventually did so. Personal rooms just seemed like such a private place, but since North was showing it to him, he must have been comfortable with having him there. Like the rest of North’s home, it was pretty bare. The wallpaper was slightly less tacky—this time a floral pattern over a white background as opposed to red like in the living room. There were more paintings of the North Korean landscape, but this room also had a few wall scrolls displaying patriotic sayings in Korean calligraphy. A bed was pushed against the wall under the window in the same fashion as in Alfred’s room. There were a couple of bedside stands, a dresser, a wardrobe, and a desk with the North Korean flag tacked to the wall above it. Curiously, Alfred noticed a violin on a stand in the corner. Thinking about it, North did seem like the refined, cultured type. It was one of the few pieces of information his room betrayed of him.

A room can say a lot about a person. Alfred thought about his own room. Though it was different in each of his residences, it always had a little bit of him in it. Whether it was a bunch of superhero posters or artifacts from the days of the Wild West, anyone walking into Alfred’s room could have gotten an idea of the kind of person he was. North’s room wasn’t like that. It had all the air of something very faceless and official. It had no personalization. It was like North’s government had come in and decorated his room to be exactly the same as everyone else’s. The violin in the corner was the only outlier that told anything about North. It made Alfred wonder what North was _really_ like. Surely his government hadn’t sucked _all_ the personality out of him.

They skipped the guest room, since clearly Alfred had already seen it.

Across the hall was a little study whose walls were lined with bookshelves. It looked comfortable and well broken-in, and Alfred suspected North spent a lot of time in here. There was an ornate rug covering most of the floor and an armchair and a lamp in the corner near the window. There was another desk with a phone and some paper organizers and a lamp, all neatly arranged on its surface. Finally, the space in the middle of the room was occupied by an old piano. Actually, looking farther back into the room, Alfred was pretty sure he saw the cases to a French horn and the violin he’d seen in North’s room.

“You play?” Alfred asked, referring to the piano, but wondering how many instruments North was versed in.

“Yes,” North replied. “Why else would I have it?”

Well, he had Alfred there. What a smartass.

“It could have just been for decoration,” Alfred surmised, but with how old the piano looked, he doubted that. “Can you play something?”

“Yes, but I won’t,” North said, glancing at Alfred to see what sort of affect that answer might have on him.

It had the effect of making Alfred feel like he was talking to Arthur. “Can I go play outside?” he might have asked as a child. “I don’t know. Can you?” Arthur would answer. It drove Alfred crazy.

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Alfred said with a slight pout. “I bet you’re pretty good.” Maybe appealing to North’s pride would make him like Alfred a bit more?

But it didn’t, and North didn’t even humor him with an answer, instead leading him back out to the hallway.

There was one more door in the hallway, but North skipped it and went straight back to the living room.

“Hey, wait!” Alfred called after him. “There’s one more!”

“It’s locked and it’s none of your business,” North said, hesitating at the end of the hallway to make sure Alfred was following him. “Just storage.” Alfred nearly tried the doorknob to see if it was _actually_ locked, but thought better of it. If there were any government secrets locked in that room, North would surely punish him harshly for trying to get in. He already felt like he was on thin ice. North may have been treating him well so far, but that could all change in an instant if Alfred misstepped.

“That’s everything,” North said once Alfred rejoined him in the living room. “Unless you want me to show you outside, but I don’t think you do.”

Yeah, it was too cold for that. “Nope. I’m good. What next?”

North didn’t seem ready for that question, because he looked away and thought for a long, hard moment before turning back to Alfred with an answer. “The power’s not back yet, so I suppose I’ll have to take you into Pyongyang for lunch.”

Oh, boy, food! After the interrogation and subsequent headache he’d suffered through the day before, Alfred hadn’t eaten anything. The last time he’d eaten was back in Beijing. Now, he was starving. “Sounds great,” he said. “I’ll go get my coat.”

After a quick trip back into the guest room to grab his coat off the bed, he returned to the entryway to throw on his shoes, rejoin North, and follow him to the car outside.

North drove to the middle of Pyongyang, where the lights were indeed on and the heat running as if nothing would have dictated otherwise. Away from the towering statues and monuments of the tourist areas, Pyongyang looked like any other major city, if not a bit old. Pedestrians walked by on their lunch breaks as North led Alfred into a nondescript restaurant. They ordered Pyongyang cold noodles, a dish North insisted was famous but Alfred had never heard of. Then again, how many people had heard of anything in North Korea besides nuclear weapons and famine? He’d let North have this one.

After lunch, North took Alfred to see some everyday things around Pyongyang.

“You paid for a tour,” North said. “But they’ll just show you everything you’ve already seen.”

It was strange, Alfred thought. If North wanted him to see the best of this city, then why _wouldn’t_ he take him to the big monuments and proven tourist attractions? After all, everything in North Korea was so strictly controlled—the things shown on the tours were things that North could only be proud of. And yet, here he was showing Alfred convenience stores and a shopping mall, none of which were particularly impressive. Was it just to remind Alfred that real people lived here? After all, it was easy to believe that the North Korean capital really _was_ just a showcase city where all the “citizens” were actors, that North’s government had stripped him of all personality, and that the North Korean people were Kim Jong Il loving drones. When those were the things that had been said of North Korea consistently for years and years, it was easy to start believing them, even though the logical voice in the back of Alfred’s head told him they weren’t completely true. For years, North had even seemed to play along—insulting America at every opportunity, denouncing capitalism, spouting his government’s “official BS.” Only recently, now that Alfred had been to his country a couple of times, was North’s exterior façade beginning to crack. He was less a propaganda mouthpiece and more a socially inept outcast. He was quiet and didn’t seem to know how to deal with Alfred other than resorting to anger, but as the day drew on, even that aspect of North was beginning to fade. Was it on purpose, Alfred wondered? Or had North simply gotten weary of being constantly angry?

When they stopped inside a convenience store late in the afternoon, North asked if Alfred needed anything. Alfred ended up getting a bottle of imported Chinese soda and a puzzle book, thinking he should at least have some entertainment the next time the power went out. By the time they stepped back out onto the street, the sun was dipping below the buildings. It was time to find where North parked and head home.

North had picked up a few vegetables at the store with what looked like a ration book, and upon arriving home began chopping them up for dinner. Luckily, the power had come back on while they were gone, so at least Alfred wouldn’t have to wait in the cold.

“Go do some puzzles or something,” North told Alfred. “It shouldn’t take long.”

A short while later, the two of them were enjoying bowls of _bibimbap_ at North’s table. The rice at the bottom of the bowl was topped with several vegetables, many of which Alfred didn’t recognize. He saw North mix it all up and he did the same, trying to be as authentic as possible here. It might make North more open to talking to him, and they did have some things to talk about. All day, the conversation had been pretty one-sided, with North showing Alfred around and telling him all about the things he was seeing. There had never been an opportunity for Alfred to try to talk to North about the talks with South or the impending drills, which _had_ been the entire reason for Alfred coming here. Now that he was sitting across from North and it was again silent between them, he considered bringing it up—but he hesitated. There was something else bothering him—something that he felt he _needed_ to ask about before he could bring up the talks or the drills.

“Hey, North,” he said, struggling to get his chopsticks around a particularly slippery piece of vegetable. “Can I ask you something?”

“Is it a stupid question?” North asked, apparently trying to nip Alfred’s question asking in the bud before it began.

“No, it’s a good one,” Alfred replied. “Promise.”

He looked up in time to see North giving him his usual displeased look before he looked back down at his bowl. “Ask.”

Alfred smiled. “Okay, so, I’ve been wondering—what…what did I say when you shot me up with that drug yesterday?” He saw North pause, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Because I mean…you’ve been almost _nice_ to me today. Almost. In your own sort of way.”

North quickly went back to scowling at his food, digging his chopsticks down to pick up a vegetable that was clinging stubbornly to the side of the bowl. “You’re my guest. It’s not niceness—it’s civility.”

That may have been a good enough answer for some people, but not Alfred. “All right, call it whatever you want, but you’ve definitely been less tense. You haven’t accused me of spying or even called me a ‘capitalist pig’ or whatever _once_ today.” Alfred didn’t say so, but he was sure this change was because of something he’d said under the influence of truth serum at the hospital. What else could have produced this sudden change in North’s attitude? “That’s not like you.”

“It’s civility,” North insisted.

“All right, fine,” Alfred sighed. “Why don’t you answer my first question then?”

“What you said during the interrogation?”

“Yes.”

North wrinkled his nose and stared down at his food, frowning. “You kept saying you wanted to be friends.”

Alfred stared at North for a moment, and then his face broke out into a smile. “Yeah! Is that so weird?”

He did want to be friends with North. The last time he’d visited North Korea, Alfred had thought about the possibility. The big problem with North was that he wasn’t treating diplomacy as a two way street. He was reactionary rather than proactive—except when he did something he _knew_ was dangerous in order to draw attention to himself, like threatening war or attacking boats. He never tried to reach out to anybody, and yet he expected people to be conciliatory with him.  It would be better for both of them if they could get along and not have to worry about who might throw a missile at the other first. No one liked to have enemies. Alfred didn’t, and he felt a bit bad that a large part of his motivation in trying to get North to open up to him was to reduce the risk to himself. And yet, the more time he spent with North, the more the little Korean was beginning to grow on him as a person—the same way his brother had so many years ago.

“I mean, think about it,” Alfred continued. “If I didn’t care about you at all, why would I waste so much time and money coming here? I could just as easily stay at home and play video games and let the politicians take care of it.”

North continued to stare down at his food. It was easy to see him being Yong Soo’s brother. The more Alfred watched him, the more he saw similarities in their habits—while Yong Soo would swirl his drink with his straw when he was deep in thought, North would push his food around with his chopsticks.

“I don’t know,” North admitted after a long silence. It was clear that Alfred perplexed him. As much as North wanted to believe that the American was out to get him, that belief had been contradicted by whatever Alfred had said in the interrogation room. Truth serum may not have been fool proof, but Alfred could see North working through the logic in his mind. If truth serum made it harder to lie, wouldn’t it be easier for Alfred to tell the truth than concoct a lie about a complicated friend-making scheme? Maybe that was part of the reason Alfred was staying at North’s house too—so North could assess him better.

“I’m telling you, man,” Alfred said, smiling. “It’d be better for both of us.”

North didn’t seem to buy it, but at least he wasn’t acting hostile. There was hope for him yet.

They finished their meal with no further discussion of the interrogation. Clearly, it had been enough for one night.

After dinner, the two watched some old Chinese movie on North’s clunky television before heading off to bed.

Or, at least, that’s what Alfred thought.

_Alfred_ had gone to bed, this time wisely nestling into the blankets in case the power went out again. Contrary to his assumption, however, North hadn’t. Sometime during the night, Alfred woke up with the urge to go to the bathroom, so he quietly rose from the bed and tip-toed down the hall to the bathroom to do his business. When he came out, however, he noticed light filtering down the hallway. Against his better judgement, he went to investigate.

All the way at the other end of the house, North sat at the table in the kitchen, doing what looked like paperwork. The sliding door had been left open just a crack, and Alfred slid it open a bit more so that he could poke his head in.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, making North jump. He pretended to cough so that North wouldn’t see that he was laughing.

North recovered from his initial surprise and let out a huff. “Just some paperwork.”

Despite North clearly having papers in front of him, Alfred wasn’t sure he bought that excuse.

“You know, I’m not gonna try to escape or anything,” Alfred said, letting out a yawn. “You don’t need to stay up pretending to do paperwork.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Okay, dude. Just sayin’.”

To help put North’s mind at ease, he wandered towards the sink and asked, “Where do you keep your cups? I was just coming to get a glass of water.” He faked another cough, as if that were the reason he was coming for water. He didn’t want North thinking he’d been up trying to sneak out the front door or into the locked storage room.

“In the cabinet next to the sink,” North answered, watching Alfred for a moment before going back to his paperwork. Alfred filled up a glass, gulped it down quickly, then made his way toward the sliding door to leave.

“But yeah. You don’t need to stay up to watch me,” Alfred said as he left. He didn’t look back to see how North was responding, but he did hope he’d gone to bed after that.

The next morning went much the same as the first, except the power was on. Alfred joined North at the table for a cup of tea and some light conversation—how he’d slept, if he was tired from the day before, if he wanted to see more of Pyongyang.

He did, and after lunch in a barbecue restaurant (that he very much enjoyed), North towed him around for more sightseeing. This time, they stayed along the bank of the Taedong, the river that ran through Pyongyang’s heart. There were a lot more tourist attractions along the river, such as the Juche Tower and Kim Il Sung Square, but North more or less skipped those, knowing Alfred had already seen them. They walked by little shops and businesses, and Alfred vaguely wondered how they worked in a state without capitalism, but knew better than to ask.

At one point, he saw the familiar shape of a Navy ship down river and asked North, “Hey, is that the _Pueblo?_ ” to which North mumbled something like a ‘yes’ and quickly led Alfred in the other direction. It was a discussion they’d save for another day.

When they returned to North’s home late in the afternoon, it was not yet late enough for dinner, so Alfred suggested North show him the area around his house. North agreed, and soon the two were bundled up and walking along the secluded road that wound up the mountain.

There was actually a very specific reason Alfred had suggested they go for a walk—since he’d been interrogated, he had not brought up the talks with South or the impending military drills even once, and talking to North about those two things was the entire reason he’d come. A flight out of Pyongyang would be leaving the next day, and he was sure North intended to put him on it. It was now or never, and he knew North wouldn’t want to discuss these things if he thought someone was listening. Alfred had considered the possibility of North’s house being bugged, and decided he would have to talk to North somewhere else. Pyongyang was too busy, so the road was their only option.

“I need to ask you something,” Alfred began when they were sufficiently far from the house.

North raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Okay, so,” Alfred started, the same way he always did when he was about to enter dangerous territory. “What happened with those talks? Yong Soo said you walked.”

North hesitated. “They weren’t going anywhere,” he said slowly.

“But why just quit?” Alfred pressed. “Now you definitely won’t get anywhere.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” North sighed, sounding surprisingly subdued discussing a topic that really should have gotten his blood boiling. “Why do you care, anyway? It’s better for you. When we don’t talk, you can point fingers at me. Accuse me of being insincere. Justify military action.” He gave Alfred a pointed look, and Alfred knew he meant the drills.

“I care because it would be better for you both if you came to some kind of understanding,” Alfred replied. “Not just as nations—as people too.”

“No,” North disagreed. “It wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

North shot Alfred an irritated look. “It would be an unbalanced understanding,” he said. “You and South and most of the UN against me? It would be stacked in your favor.”

“No it wouldn’t!” Alfred insisted. “Not if it started with you and South.”

“Don’t be stupid,” North spat, picking up his pace as if he intended to leave Alfred behind.

“How am I being stupid?” Alfred asked, increasing his stride length to keep up.

“You’re trying to tell me it wouldn’t be unbalanced,” North said, “when every other agreement you’ve tried to make with me has been horribly unbalanced.” He stopped and turned around, staring Alfred in the eye. If he hadn’t been worked up before, he certainly was now. “Everything is intended to strip me of any defensive capability. ‘We won’t talk to you about nukes until you get rid of them.’ ‘We won’t talk to you about security issues until you stop defending yourself.’ ‘We won’t acknowledge your sovereignty until you’re weak enough for us to take it from you.’ How is that fair? Why should I listen to anything you have to say to me?”

Nearly frozen to the spot, Alfred wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Every agreement Alfred’s politicians had ever tried to craft with North Korea—even the best ones—had fallen apart because there was no trust. No one wanted to make the first move. America wasn’t ready to loosen up sanctions and restrictions on North Korea because no one wanted to risk being attacked, so the North Koreans were asked to disarm first. But, North Korea wouldn’t disarm, because it left _them_ open to attack. Neither side trusted the other not to attack, so, by fundamental design, no agreement between them could ever work. When Alfred looked into North’s eyes, behind the coldness and the hostility, he saw _fear—_ the deep seated kind that couldn’t simply be shrugged off or dulled by time. It was persistent in every aspect of North’s country—the nukes, the obsessive control, the isolation, the paranoia. Every action was a measure to keep harm from coming to him.

It was then that Alfred realized being friends with North wasn’t going to get him anywhere if they didn’t have trust. Somehow, he was going to have to get North to trust him.

“North…” he said softly. He had no idea what to say. There wasn’t anything he _could_ say that was going to ease the situation when North was so worked up, so he simply said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m…sorry. I’m sorry it hasn’t worked. I know you don’t trust me. I don’t know how to make you understand, but I want to help you. I’ll take another round of truth serum. I’ll let you blindfold me and take me to where you can do the lie detector test. I don’t know.”

“But…why?” North asked, his anger fading into perplexity. “Why are you trying so hard?”

That, Alfred didn’t have an answer to.

“I wish I knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- We're finally starting to move along here! This chapter ended up really long.
> 
> \- Bibimbap is a Korean dish that consists of rice topped with vegetables and sometimes meat or an egg. The ingredients can vary, but some common ones are carrots, cucumber, zucchini, bean sprouts, spinach, mushrooms, an a variety of other native vegetables.
> 
> \- The Pueblo is an American Navy vessel that was captured by the North Koreans back in 1968. It's the only commissioned US Navy vessel still being held captive.


End file.
